Defying the Stars
by theatricalveggie
Summary: "I slide my hand across his lap and weave his fingers in mine. Peeta stirs, looking down at our entwined hands blearily before smiling and drifting back to sleep. He's mine to protect. To keep safe. I try to ignore my mother's words as the ring in my mind." This AU Everlark story takes place picking up on the train ride back from the Games with a pair of star-crossed lovers.
1. Chapter 1 - The Games

_Stay away from the Mellark boys._

It was the mantra of our childhood. There's hesitancy whenever I'm around any of the baker's sons. It's been trained into me since I was a little girl. But now, as I watch Peeta sleeping against the glass pane of the train window, I wonder what my mother will say.

I tried to stay away from Peeta, but our paths were tied from the moment Effie called his name out and he took his place beside me as tribute. My eyes drew to him and then quickly flitted away. I'd never so much as spoken a word to any of the Mellark sons, and now the youngest was boarding a train with me.

I didn't talk to him at all. Not at first. Haymitch smirked and thought it was some kind of strategy. But it was as if Peeta didn't realize I was shutting him out. Or he didn't care. When he stood next to me in training, I pretended he wasn't there. When he whispered a joke in my ear during dinner, I didn't react. When he took my hand during the tribute parade, I soaked in the praise of the crowd, but the moment the cameras were gone I ripped my fingers away from his and stormed to my room. When he confessed his unrequited love for me during his interview, I reacted by slamming violently him against the wall of our suite, breaking a vase and messing up his hands.

 _Stay away from the Mellark boys._

Haymitch wanted us to play it up. The whole star-crossed lovers bit. But the moment the countdown was over, I bolted from the Cornucopia and as far away from the baker's boy as I could.

I wish it hadn't shocked me when he joined the Careers, but it did. It made my stomach feel rancid when I spied on them from the treetops. When I heard Peeta playing up the Lover Boy act, telling them how to hunt me down. Making _himself_ desirable. Giving _himself_ value.

It wasn't until I sent a hive of tracker jackers plummeting into their camp that I realized I wasn't being played, they were. After I was stung and tripping out of my mind he came back for me. Peeta shoved me away to safety, hiding me in the woods before turning back to take on Cato and giving me a chance to flee. Peeta could have run. Cato would have been satisfied just killing me. But instead, he took on a Career alone and drunk and dizzy from venom.

I couldn't make sense of it. Rue said he liked me. A Mellark wouldn't like me. He's just another stuck up Townsperson and I'm just another dirty girl from the Seam. It was an act. He was vying for sponsors.

Then why did he nearly die for me?

I screamed when I lost Rue. After I buried her in flowers, after I sang her to sleep, I screamed. You shouldn't scream in an Arena. It draws in your predators. It repels sponsors. Still. I screamed.

I felt absolutely and wholly wrecked.

But then the rules changed. I could live, and so could Peeta.

My mind told me to stop. _Stay away from the Mellark boys._ But I took off in a sprint. I needed to find him. He'd saved my life twice now, and it was a debt I could finally repay. Even if he was a Mellark.

When I found him caked in mud and gravely injured, Peeta acted surprised.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, still not sure I was really in front of him, even as I gingerly stripped his clothes and cleaned his wound.

"You're hurt because you tried to save me," I reasoned. He could certainly see I owed him that.

"I did better than try," he joked, even as his skin grew pale and his wound seeped with puss. He gritted teeth as I forced him to his feet and hid him in a cave.

He didn't get better. He got worse hour over hour. I had handcuffed myself to an invalid. I should have just left him. I should have run. But as I watched him sleep, shivering from fever, I knew I'd never be able to do that. Then there was the feast. An answer. A way to make things right. I wondered what my mother thought as she watched me risk my life for the baker's son. As I nearly lost it.

I passed out from the blood loss next to Peeta's sleeping body. He woke to find me there, pale and cold and drained. He shook me hard and cried out my name. When I came to there was a desperation in his voice I couldn't register. It's just an act. It's supposed to be just an act. Except now we both knew it wasn't. We weren't pretending anymore.

Peeta made it though. With the medicine I'd won in the Feast, he'd almost entirely recuperated. It was strange, then, being around him when he was lucid. Talking. He wasn't that bad. I might even have liked him were our circumstances different. But somewhere in the back of my mind, the words cycled like song lyrics you can't get out of your head – _Stay away from the Mellark boys._

It was in the end that I knew those words were wrong. When the rule change was revoked. When the only thing standing between me and survival was a Mellark. It was when Peeta threw his weapon to the ground. When he swore at me frantically when I dropped mine.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. Words he'd said before, when I tried to mend his body, when I tried to put him back together. But I didn't have the right words to say back. Then he ripped the tourniquet from his leg and collapsed to the ground. He was determined to get me out with my life, even if it meant losing his own.

It was in that moment I knew I couldn't leave without him. That I'd never leave this Arena, not really. Not without Peeta.

I dropped to my knees beside him.

"Stay with me," I whispered as I felt him slipping away, my thumb running over his cheek bone.

"Always," he'd whispered before losing consciousness. His skin was white, his fingers cold.

No. No no no. I dug desperately in my pockets, finally finding the crimson poison I'd been searching for. Nightlock.

They need their victor.

Well screw them. They can't have one.

I could barely taste the toxic juice on my tongue when I'd heard Claudius Templesmith blaring on the speakers, declaring us both winners. I spit the berries in the dirt, wiping at my tongue with my hands, swishing my mouth with water from the lake, spitting it on the ground. I turned back and grabbed the fabric, trying to twist it back around Peeta's leg. They brought us up in the hovercraft, just like the do all the other winners, but Peeta was already gravely injured. I screamed his name and beat my fists on the glass before what little poison had slipped past my tongue found me and I finally passed out.

We were carried out of the hovercraft and into the tribute center. I saw the tapes. The Capitol kept our status under wraps. No one knew if we were alive or dead. I had no idea what had become of Peeta. I didn't see Haymitch or Effie or Cinna.

It wasn't until the night of the interview, when I boarded the stage, that I saw him. That I knew.

Peeta lived.

I ran across the stage, throwing myself in his arms, knocking him off balance. But as my chest pressed against his I could feel my heart slamming hard against my ribs. I could feel his, too, keeping pace.

He hadn't made it out whole. As I stared at his metal leg, guilt ate my stomach like rot in wood. Peeta lifted my chin, forcing my gaze away from what was absent and toward what was real. Peeta. He'd survived.

"Thank you," he said softly. "For saving my life."

Peeta's body stilled next to mine when he saw the footage with the berries. He shot his eyes to me.

"Katniss? Why would you –"

"Shut up," I said, wrapping my arms around his neck. "I wasn't leaving there without you," I whispered. I didn't think the cameras heard it but they had, and the audience swooned.

I thought things had gone as best they could. We were going home. Both of us. But Haymitch warned me under his alcohol-soaked breath that something was wrong. That _they_ weren't happy. That _the president_ wasn't happy. We'd made a fool of the Capitol. We'd made a fool of him. We made them submit to us in front of the whole country.

"You need to show Snow that you are head-over-heels, willing-to-die in love with this boy," Haymitch told me when the train had stopped. When we were alone out on the tracks. "That's why you pulled that stunt with the berries. It was nothing more than that."

"But it wasn't that. I just… they took him. And I couldn't let them win," I respond.

"They always win," Haymitch said coldly, taking a swig of liquor and then heading back to the train, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

And so now, watching Peeta sleep, I feel a heat under my skin. A need to protect him. I need to keep him safe.

I slide my hand across his lap and weave his fingers in mine. Peeta stirs, looking down at our entwined hands blearily before smiling and drifting back to sleep.

He's mine to protect. To keep safe.

I try to ignore my mother's words as the ring in my mind.

 _Stay away from the Mellark boys._

 **A/N: Hey lovelies! Thank you for reading my new fic! The title comes from Romeo's heartbreaking exclamation - I defy you, stars! This one is full on AU, hard playing up on the whole star-crossed theme. I hope you like it!**


	2. Chapter 2 - Homecoming

When the train pulls in to District 12, practically the entire population is crammed into the railway station. We get off the train and the roar of screams and cheers is nearly deafening. My eyes scan the crowd until I spy Prim propped up on my best friend's shoulders. I feel a smile stretch across my face.

"Katniss!" I see her mouth, although the sound is swallowed by the throng. My eyes drop to Gale and his smiles sheepishly, but I can tell he's gleaming. I leap from the platform and shove my way through the people until I reach them. Gale drops Prim from his shoulders and I catch her in a hug so tight I may break her in half, but in this moment I don't care and neither does she. Gale wraps his arms around both of us and I see a camera flash. I know how this looks.

Dammit.

I jolt away from him and a confused expression flashes over his face.

"Katniss! Katniss!" I hear the reporters squawking at me like a dissatisfied bird. "Who is this? Do you have a man in your life?"

I smile placidly, Haymitch's warning ringing in my ear. "This is my cousin, Gale," I say, gesturing to him like some flighty game show host showing off a prize. It's believable enough. Everyone from the Seam sort of looks the same – the same gray eyes, olive skin, dark hair. Everyone but Prim, whose blue eyes glitter up at me. The cameras flash more, this time directing their questions at the victor's handsome cousin.

"Gale, you must be thrilled to have your cousin home again!" one shouts.

"Um, yeah?" he mumbles, shooting me a puzzled look.

I'm grateful when my mother steps forward and wraps me in her arms, pulling my face away from the cameras. I haven't cried. In the entire experience of the Games I haven't cried, but enveloped in my mother's arms I feel like a little girl again. My arms encircle her waist. Tears sting my eyes and I quickly bat them away, breaking the hug and grabbing Prim's hand.

"Let's go home," I manage.

Over my shoulder I see Peeta, hoisted on the shoulders of his older brothers, surrounded by people from Town. It's almost as if the crowd is divided perfectly down the middle. The Seamsfolk on one side, chanting my name and whistling when I wave, and the Townspeople on the other, all clean cut with white-toothed smiles only for Peeta.

My feet start to walk toward home but my sister tugs my arm. "No silly, this way!" she giggles and I realize I don't live in the Seam anymore. The enormous boding house in Victor's Village leaves me overwhelmed. My prep team made their way here directly from the train and Effie arrives in short order. There is no rest for the weary and I immediately begin preparations for tonight's banquet. Prim watches their precise hands with idol fascination.

"You have exceptional bone structure," Effie says to my little sister and she blushes at the compliment. Effie's not wrong. Where I'm plain, a bit too thin, with straight hair the color of mud, my sister is like one of those porcelain dolls we saw in the Capitol. Her skin is fair, her blonde hair curls at the ends all on its own, her lips are a natural shade of rose petal. Effie's not the first to notice my sister is pretty. You'd think it would go to her head, but it hasn't. Prim is every bit as humble as she is sweet.

When my mom delivers a pot of tea, Effie remarks that clearly Prim's beauty was inherited from her mother. I seem like the pitiful runt someone picked up off the street next to those two. I'm sure that's what Effie is thinking.

I looked more like I belonged to this family when my father was alive. Even though I was only eleven when he died, I remember my dad vividly. I remember spending hours in the woods with him singing songs and teaching me to shoot. I remember his laugh. I remember how the mockingjays would stop singing and listen to his melody. How they'd sing it back as if they were conversing. I remember him showing me how to make a bow. These are memories that would probably be lost were he still with me today, but when he died I replayed them over and over again in my head until I'd memorized them. Prim doesn't remember him much at all, which she finds incredibly frustrating. A flash of his smile or a peck on her cheek, and even those things fade and are hard for her to hold on to. He doted on her like she was an angel on earth, but she wasn't even seven yet when he passed, and over time it feels more like she never had a dad at all.

Cinna arrives with trunks of clothing in tow and I feel a flush of relief. Things move smoother from there on out. I'm prepped, as are my mother and sister. Prim blushes and says _thank you_ more times than I think I've heard the phrase in my entire life.

"Alright, I'm going to go check on Mister Mellark and we'll head down together," Effie announces.

"I'd prefer Katniss arrive before Peeta," my mother says quickly. Effie stops in place and turns to the unimposing woman suddenly making demands.

"It would be poor form for us to present one victor before the other. It would imply favoritism among the committee," Effie responds.

"What is it you always say at the Reaping? Ladies first?" my mother quips back. I stare at her. I've never seen this side of my mother before. Demanding. Bold. Effie raises an eyebrow as she peruses the thought.

"Perhaps it would be advantageous to present the victors separately. Allow them each their own time to shine without competing with the other," Effie concedes.

"We aren't competing," I inject. I'm already uneasy. I haven't seen Peeta in hours. I have no idea what's happened to him. If he's alive. If Snow has already come to seek his vengeance. "Let's just go."

When we arrive at the ceremony, Haymitch meets us at the door. His eyes shoot around the crowd and then he whispers harshly, "Where's the kid?"

"They are presenting us separately," I respond. Haymitch's eyes blacken for just a moment, then he shakes his head.

"No. That won't work. I told you, you need to show the president you are madly in love with that boy. First you dash off from the train station without a goodbye. Then you show up tonight like you don't want to even be seen together. Snow's not stupid," he hisses.

"Then why did he let us live at all?" I retort. If the president is so angry, why not kill us after the Games? Or just keep Peeta alive? I'm the troublemaker.

"I don't know yet," Haymitch answers honestly. "Right now, I have to fix this." Haymitch walks away from me, Effie trained in his sights. I see him drag her away by the elbow as she swats at his arm with her tiny hands and jeweled fingernails. They argue, but ultimately they return to the crowd in sync.

"Mister Abernathy is right. We should present the victors together," Effie announces. My mother bites her lip but keeps silent. I study her face. I get that the Mellarks aren't the kind of people she wants us hanging around with, but surely the Games showed her Peeta was different. As his family crests the hill, my mother tenses.

The moment I see Peeta I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. He's alive. I knew that. Somewhere in the logical part of my brain, I knew that. I didn't anticipate I'd feel this kind of anxiety being apart. Only another victor would understand. Peeta and I lock eyes and without speaking we both sprint toward each other, leaving our families behind to watch the ordeal. I crash into him, my chest throbbing.

"I know it's stupid but I was kind of freaking out," Peeta whispers in my hair, rocking me slowly side to side.

"Me too," I nod. Effie clears her throat and we let go. Step back. Get pulled to our respective families.

Inside the Justice Building we are shuffled around from important person to important person, although in District 12 that ends quickly. No one really important lives out here. We eat. A band that's clearly been shipped in from the Capitol plays festive music. I remember what Haymitch said and Peeta and I spin around the dancefloor. I plaster on a fake smile and even manage to blush as Peeta leans close and whispers something in my ear.

At the first moment she can, my mother rushes us out of there. Prim complains, but I'm grateful to be away from the prying eye of the cameras. I want out of this dress. I want to be me again. We walk back to the house on the hill, and when I throw a glance over my shoulder I see Peeta in the distance, making his way home too. Alone.

"Where is his family?" I ponder aloud, and my mother follows my stare and catches glimpse of the Mellark boy.

"They're probably staying in the bakery. They can't just give up the business now that their son is a Victor," my mother answers.

They could. He's rich enough to take care of them now. The winner's lifetime earnings are more than enough to care for his family, even a dozen others, for generations to come. He has no more days of want. At least not for food or material things. By the way his pace drags, his head hangs, I can tell his heart is full of want.

He wants his family.

He doesn't want to be alone.

At the house we pick bedrooms and pull the pins from our hair. We hang the dresses on the rack Cinna left in the living room. Prim retreats to her room, all smiles and drooping eyelids. I'm sure she'll dream of sugardrops and music. When I finally settle in bed, my mother creeps quietly through the door and sits on the edge. I look up at her and she runs her soft hand over my cheek.

"I'm so glad you came home to us," she whispers, her voice caught in her throat. I don't know what to say, so I just stare at her. This is the most motherly she's been to me in years. It's the most motherly I've let her be. It's the most she's touched me, the most I've let myself be touched. But the Games, my nearly dying, changed things between us. The grudge I held against her feels petty. On those nights in the Arena when my bones ached against the bark of a tree or I coddled a wound, I missed my mom.

"When you ate those berries… When Prim and I thought we had you and then lost you…" She's unable to finish.

In the moment I hadn't thought about what my mother or sister might feel about my suicide attempt. That's not what it was meant to be. I didn't want to take my life. But in that instant, something bigger than me took over. As I watched Peeta dying at my feet, I knew I had to do something. I had to force them to see how barbaric they were. How cruel. I had to take away their reward. In that moment, I had to rebel. It wasn't about me or Peeta anymore. It was about all of us. What if, just once, they didn't get what they wanted? Could it change things for the next child in my place? Might they learn compassion? Mercy?

"I'm sorry," I whisper to my mother, my voice cracking.

"And it was all over a Mellark. You almost killed yourself for a Mellark," she adds. Her tone isn't venomous. It's almost disbelieving. I sit up.

"That is not what it was about," I spit back. Peeta may have been the catalyst, but my actions were about more than that. Then I remember what Haymitch said. I can't say that here in a house built by the Capitol. In a house bugged with listening devices and microphones. I sigh. "He's different, Mom. Can't you see that?"

Her eyes drop and she stares at my quilt as I watch her mind churn.

"The people from Town… They don't care about us, Katniss," she starts.

I've heard this diatribe before. My mother was from Town. Her parents were apothecaries. She had an older sister. My mom had dated the baker for years, although back then he wasn't the baker, he was the baker's only son. It was assumed a marriage between the two families would benefit both. But my mother met my father and fell madly in love. She broke things off with the baker's son, and although she tried to be kind his family lashed out at her. Her parents were furious at the prospects of their daughter marrying Seam scum and threw her out of the house. The Mellarks spat on her and called her a whore. My mother showed up penniless on my father's doorstep and his family took her in. At first she received a few cynical glares from the Seamsfolk, but after she'd saved a miner who had fallen ill and couldn't afford her parents' care, those on the fence embraced my mother's presence in the Seam as a gift. She was ostracized from Town. No one would sell to her or my father. Eventually he was forced to the woods to find us food.

While some of those sentiments linger today, most do not. The Townsfolk trade with me all the time, although they make me use the backdoor and I'm desperate so they often take advantage. My mother told me the Mellarks were the worst kind of people. Hostile. Bigoted. Hateful.

 _Stay away from the Mellark boys._

I felt guilty the first time I traded with the baker. I braced myself for animosity, but he just stared at me with a kindness and wonder in his eye.

"You're Lillian's girl," he'd said through a bushy blonde moustache. I nodded silently, waiting for the worst. It didn't come. His trades were lopsided. I couldn't tell if he was just stupid or better off than most of the rest of us. While I'd be lucky to make do with what the other merchants traded me, Mr. Mellark always gave me the heartiest loaf on his shelf. I never told my mother where the bread came from. I said someone was bartering with it in the Hob. I was always cautious around him, waiting for the spite to surface and attack. It never happened. Mr. Mellark always treated me with kindness.

Trading was impossible to give up if I wanted to keep my family alive. It was a necessary breach in my mother's rules.

Still.

 _Stay away from the Mellark boys._

"He just _seems_ different, Katniss, but he's not," she whispers. "I just don't want you to get hurt." My mother kisses my forehead and rises from the bed. "After the cameras go, I don't want you to see him again."

She takes my silence as complicity.

I wait until she's asleep before I sneak out of the house.

Across the yard.

To his door.

 _Stay away from the Mellark boys._


	3. Chapter 3 - The Cardinal Rule

I don't know what I'm doing here. I sneak up stairs identical to my own, unsure which room Peeta is sleeping in. The air feels different though, on one side of the house. Cooler. A window open. I shift direction and follow the breeze. My fingers grace the door handle lightly when the door comes swinging open and I'm slammed into the hallway wall. I lose my footing and slide down to the floor. In the dark I can see the whites of Peeta's eyes as he pants.

"Katniss! Shit! I'm so sorry!" he rambles. "I just… I thought you were… I don't know what I thought you were…"

I'm not hurt. More shocked than anything.

Being in an Arena doesn't wear off. Never sneak up on a victor.

He grabs my arms and pulls me to my feet, running his hands over my body to make sure I'm uninjured. My skin flushes each time his fingers graze over me and I'm grateful it's dark and he can't see my red cheeks.

"Are you okay? What are you doing here?" he asks.

"I couldn't sleep. I was worried about you," I answer truthfully.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks, regret heavy in his voice.

"No. Startled is all," I reply. He avoids my eyes. "Peeta, I'm fine."

"You want some tea?" he asks.

"Yeah," I respond, so we head down to the kitchen. He sets a kettle on the stove to boil and places an empty mug in front of me. It's all very domestic. I realize that with no Mutts to run from or wounds to care for, I don't really know what to say to Peeta. We weren't friends before.

"Where's your family?" I ask bluntly. He flinches. "I'm sorry," I add.

"They um…" his voice trails off.

"What?" I ask.

"I don't want to answer that," he says. I look at him quizzically. "I just don't think any good will come of it, and I can't lie to you, so I'd rather we just didn't talk about it."

"Okay," I say back slowly. I'm not sure when we started keeping things from each other. Then again, I haven't been completely honest with him either. I haven't told him I'm not allowed to be here right now.

"I will tell you, I promise. Just, not tonight," Peeta says as he watches my face.

"Okay," I say again. He pours hot water in my cup and the chamomile scents leaks into the air. We sit silently for a moment, drinking our tea. The hot mug warms my fingers until even my bones feel relaxed. It's the most comfortable I've felt since I've been home. "What's the first thing you remember?" I ask.

"When?"

"Ever," I expand.

Peeta smiles. I'm trying to get to know him. I'm trying to be friends. "Um, I remember hiding from my brother Rye behind one of the ovens in the bakery. I was able to wedge myself between the oven and the wall so I must have been pretty small." He looks at me curiously, a smirk on his face. "You?"

"I remember my mom pregnant with Prim," I answer. "Not well. I just have this memory of pressing my hand on her stomach and feeling Prim kick."

"I like Prim," he responds and I stare at him incredulously.

"You don't know Prim," I retort. Prim's never said a word to him.

"No, not technically. But I used to watch you two stop at the bakery window on the way home from school. Prim would stare at the cakes and she'd smile and I'd feel like at least I did one thing right that day, if I got that little girl to smile," Peeta says.

We did used to sneak by the bakery. I never noticed Peeta on the other side of the glass.

"She likes you too," I answer. "From television."

"Well at least I have one fan," Peeta laughs lightly before sipping his tea. I shouldn't have said that. My mother would be furious, and Prim told me in confidence. Peeta must sense my mood change. "Do you think it will ever stop?" he asks carefully.

"What?"

"The worry. Every time I'm not with you, I just... I don't like not being with you," he replies.

The feeling is mutual.

"I don't know," I answer honestly. We talk for hours in his kitchen, through three mugs of tea. When the sun starts interrupting its way through the window I know I have to go back.

"That's okay, I need to head down to the bakery anyway," Peeta says. He changes upstairs and we both head out the front door. We stop in front of my house. I stare at the door.

"Maybe I should walk you to the bakery," I stammer. The idea of separating is making my stomach feel like it's full of worms.

Peeta hesitates. "How about I stop by when I get back? Bring Prim some frosted cookies?"

"No," I respond firmly. Probably too quickly. He looks at me.

I'm not allowed at the bakery. He's not allowed at my house.

There's something unsaid between us.

 _Stay away from the Mellark boys._

I'm not sure what to do with myself when I arrive home. I spend an hour exploring our new house while Prim and my mother sleep. I make some coffee. I go the basement, which by itself is bigger than our house in the Seam. I find a wall with wooden shelving and decide I should can food for the winter. I put some money in my pockets and head to the Hob with my newfound wealth. It feels weird though, like I'm out of place buying things with money instead of bartering with game. I don't stay long and instead find myself at the Hawthorne door.

When Hazelle opens it she immediately wraps me in her arms. I squirm a little, uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, Katniss. I am just so glad to see you," she says. Alive. She's glad to see me _alive_. I'm glad to see her too. I shouldn't be so standoffish.

"Catnip! What are you doing here?" Gale asks when he spies me over his mother's shoulder. His hair is messy from sleep and his grin is lazy.

"You want to go for a walk?" I ask and he smiles.

Gale and I walk to the Meadow. It's too dangerous for me to sneak out to the woods right now. He's closer than normal, but I can't blame him. I can't blame Hazelle for hugging me. They didn't think I was coming home. The back of his hand brushes mine and before I know it he's curled his fingers so that we're holding hands. I stop walking and I look up at him. I need to tell him what's going on. I need to talk to my best friend. Before I can, though, he's already speaking.

"Katniss," he starts, and I know he's serious. He only ever calls me Katniss when he's serious. "When I thought I lost you…" I hear his words, I see his hand clasped in mine.

"I'm tired," I interrupt. He pauses, a little thrown, and looks at me.

"Everyone is treating me different and touching me and they're all so glad I'm alive, and I am too, and I don't mean to seem ungrateful…" I sigh, exacerbated. "But everyone is treating me different. My mother tucked me in last night!"

He doesn't say anything, but from the look on Gale's face he's just as surprised as I am. My mother hasn't been my mother in years.

"And every time someone treats me different I feel different. And I don't want to feel different. Not around you. I just want to be me. I don't want the Games to have changed me," I ramble.

He's quiet for a moment. Thoughtful. "Maybe they didn't change you, but they changed _us_. Those of us left behind," Gale says. I stare at him. "Look, we thought we lost you. Over and over again. And now that you are here, I don't want to waste any more time."

That's when Gale leans forward and kisses me. I don't know how to react. It's my first kiss, and so for a moment there's a tingle of curiosity, but it's quickly overwhelmed by anger. I put my hands on his chest and shove him away.

"Didn't you just listen to a thing I said? I don't want things to be different!" I'm practically yelling.

"Maybe you don't want them to be different but they are," he spits out. I'm practically writhing in frustration. Gale looks at me and takes a deep breath. This time his voice is softer. Calmer. "I love you, Catnip. And I didn't say it before because I was going to wait until the time was right. Until you came around. But then you got ripped away from me and I realized waiting is stupid!" Gale is still talking when a sudden realization hits me. My body feels cold, like someone injected ice into my veins. I turn around, my eyes darting back to town.

We're in the Meadow.

People can see us.

Who knows what houses are bugged with cameras. The president could be watching right now, and in this moment, I don't look like I'm in love with Peeta Mellark.

"I have to go," I say, interrupting Gale mid-sentence. His mouth hangs open, his last word caught in his throat. I have no idea what he was saying. "I have to go," I say again and take off sprinting toward Victor's Village.

At home my mother asks if I'm okay but I just go to my room and close the door. I have no idea what I'm doing. In this house. With what's left of my life. I just want things to go back to how they were before. I want… My eyes drift out the window and I realize I can see Peeta's kitchen window from my room. I want to know if he's okay. All the time. I waste hours in my room. We eat dinner. I clean up. I wait hours.

That night when I sneak over to Peeta's he's not in his room. He's sitting at the kitchen counter, resting his head on his folded arms. When I approach he turns away from me.

"You should go home," he says quietly. I stop in my tracks. I thought we were on the same page. We need each other right now.

"Do you _want_ me to go home?" I ask tentatively.

"No," he confesses on a breath. "But you should," he adds, staring at the wall.

I approach Peeta slowly and I see his entire body tense.

"Peeta," I whisper, my hand slipping to his shoulder. "Peeta, look at me." He shakes his head and a pit opens up in my stomach. He was at the bakery. With _her_. "Peeta," I say again, the gentleness gone from my tone. "Peeta, look at me."

He finally turns around, his eyes trained on the floor. On his face is a ghastly wound. His left side is already shiny and swollen. Blood pools under his skin and will soon turn into a hideous bruise. My insides feel like they are on fire. Emotions swell and are overwhelmed by others – fear, anger, guilt, disbelief.

"What happened?" I ask, my fingers ghosting over his swollen cheekbone. He hisses through his teeth and pulls away. I cross to the freezer and pull out some ice, wrapping it in a thin kitchen cloth.

"I broke the cardinal rule," Peeta answers quietly, struggling not to flinch as I press the ice to his wound.

"And what was that?" I ask, trying to be tender with my hands. Peeta looks up at me through his blonde eyelashes.

"Stay away from the Everdeen girls," he responds.


	4. Chapter 4 - Places to Sleep

"What's that supposed to mean?" I spit out, more harshly than I mean it to be. _Stay away from the Everdeen girls._

"My parents… well… my mom… She says your family is no good. That you're selfish people and you take things that don't belong to you," Peeta starts. I stare at him, stunned. He reads my face. "I don't believe that Katniss. That's just what my mom says."

"Your mom doesn't even know me. Know _us_ ," I respond. Peeta's expression softens.

"Of course not," he says, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. It's intimate. It's the kind of thing that normally sends me reeling backwards from people, but in this moment his palm is so warm and it's easier just to lean into it. He runs his thumb along my cheekbone and I stare at his, swollen and throbbing. He sits back up. "Ever since I was a kid, you guys were kind of her example of what not to be. Dirty. Hungry. Poor. She's said it for as long as I can remember. The Seam kids are bad news. Stay away from the Everdeen girls." I don't know what to say to that. Neither does he. "I should have known better. You know what happened last time I broke the rules."

I do, and guilt starts festering in my gut. I know his mother hits him, but I've only ever seen this type of injury one other time.

When he gave me the burnt bread. The bread that saved my life, the life of my sister.

I saw her slap him across the face, but I have no idea what happened when they went inside. Peeta didn't come back to school for three days. When he did, his eye was black and he walked with a slight limp for a couple weeks.

I never said thank you. I never even acknowledged him.

The idea that this injury now is also on me is more than I can take.

"Katniss, this isn't your fault," Peeta says as if reading my mind.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" I ask, my words tumbling over each other. Peeta stares at the wall. "Peeta," I whisper, my voice small. He turns around and gingerly pulls his tee shirt over his head. I see a series of long welts running along his back.

"What is that from?" I ask.

"It doesn't matter," Peeta replies, his eyes locked on something distant. My fingertips gently ghost the wounds. I don't know what I'm doing, but I bring my mouth to the top welt and place a soft kiss on his skin. Peeta gasps a little and straightens his back. "What are you doing?" he asks suddenly.

I don't know what I'm doing. I want to make him feel better.

"I don't know," I respond. I never did that when he was hurt in the Arena. Peeta turns around in the stool. I suddenly realize how close we are. I can feel the heat billowing from his body, radiating like one of the ovens in his bakery. It is so warm and inviting, but I straighten my back. I'm not being fair to him. I know what he said in the interviews – he's in love with me. He's never said it wasn't true. He reaches up slowly and rests a hand on my waist.

"It's okay. You're being protective. It's just left over from the Arena, I get it," he dismisses. I nod, but somewhere in my mind I wonder if that's truly it. He studies my face for a minute. Pale skin. Tired eyes. "Did you sleep last night?"

I shake my head no.

"Me either," he confesses. "I think I need to go to bed." Peeta stands from the stool and we're so close the fabric of my shirt brushes up against his bare stomach. I step to the side and he skirts around me, grabbing his shirt off the floor and tugging it back over his head. "Katniss?" he says, facing the stairs so he doesn't have to see my reaction. "Will you stay with me?" His voice is more vulnerable than he means it to be.

He thinks it's all out in the open now. His mother's rule. Why we were forcing ourselves apart. I want to, but –

"I can't," I answer. I can see his posture deflate just a little.

"Okay. Well, good night," he says, throwing a forced casual look at me over his shoulder before heading up to bed.

I wait a little bit until I hear the sink stop running. Until there are no more footsteps upstairs. Until I know he's safe and in bed. I finally let myself out. The lawn is covered with dew and I soak the bottom of my pajama pants. I sneak into the house silently and move around the kitchen. Most people keep their medicines in the bathroom, but my mother keeps most of her supplies in a traveling case she stores in the kitchen closet. I snap open the clasps and find a bottle of sleep syrup. I set it on the counter, the glass clinking against the stone countertop. I place a kettle to boil on the stove. As I reach into the cabinet to find a mug, I hear the sound of tiny feet behind me.

"Are you having trouble sleeping?" Prim asks, her hair messy from bed.

"I'm sorry, little duck. I didn't mean to wake you up," I say. Prim sits on the stool along the bar, exactly where Peeta was when I found him in his house.

"It's weird having my own room. Lonely, kind of," Prim says, her fingers fiddling with the crisp white nightgown. It's brand new. I brought it back for her from the Capitol. She says it's fancier than any of her daytime clothes. I don't think she'll ever take it off. Making Prim smile is just about the only good thing in my life.

"Yeah," I agree, although Prim has been sleeping alone for weeks. Once I was reaped, she had her own room by default. I wasn't supposed to come back. I wonder what it was like for her to sleep alone that first night. I bet she didn't. I bet she slept with my mother every night I was gone.

"Does Peeta have trouble sleeping?" Prim asks, her voice a little higher than normal, one eyebrow perched high on her forehead. I can't deny it. I'd never lie to Prim.

"Yes," I say, pouring steaming water from the kettle into my cup. I sit beside her. "We both do. I just can't let my guard down. Can't relax. I don't know how anymore."

"Do you think that will help?" she asks, staring at the mug of hot water and sleep syrup. It smells saccharine, like someone put too much sugar in their tea. I know what she's worried about. She's seen Haymitch, drunk and hapless. She's seen victors on television. Not the ones in the forefront, but the ones dragged to the Games, heads bobbing from morphling running through their veins. She doesn't want me to become another addict, refusing to stay awake, locking myself in my room and using sleep syrup to force out reality.

"I don't like sleeping, Prim," I answer. "There's nothing good waiting for me when I close my eyes."

"You can come sleep in my room if you want," she offers sweetly. I know from my experience on the train home that's not an option. Night comes with terrors that leave me screaming and sweating and thrashing. I'm hoping the sleep syrup will knock me so deep I'm beyond that, but I don't want to risk hurting my sister.

"I'm not much of a bedfellow anymore," I confess.

"Are you going to Peeta's?" she asks. "When you sneak out at night?"

"Prim!" I exclaim as I shift in my seat uncomfortably. "Yes," I answer.

"Does he really love you like he said?" she follows up, a small smile on her lips.

"I don't know. What we said in front of the cameras wasn't always true," I say, stroking her head lightly with my hand.

"I think he loves you," Prim replies.

"I think he's just worried about me," I say back. "Because we spent so much time worrying about each other in the Arena."

"I think that's an easy excuse," Prim adds, too wise for her years.

"Okay, that's enough. Bed," I order. We march up the stairs in a row. She wishes me a good night and slips into her room. I go to mine. My bed is enormous. Three people could sleep in here comfortably. I feel like it might swallow me whole. I walk to my window. The lights are still out at Peeta's.

I head to the bathroom and brush out my hair. The toothpaste from the Capitol is so minty it stings. We used to just brush our teeth with baking soda I bartered for in the Hob. Marta likes squirrel, so I could stockpile the stuff. I set my toothbrush on the porcelain sink and stare at the steaming mug of water, but when I blink I see Rue, smiling. She's not bloodied and dead. But even her face makes me feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. Like I'm gasping for air. I think about Peeta next door, struggling with the demons when he closes his eyes. The demons when he opens them. We're both haunted now.

Tomorrow night.

I'll try to sleep alone tomorrow night.

When I reach Peeta's room I'm panting from the run. He's not asleep. He's lying on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. He has a wet washcloth pressed to the wound on his face and his chest is bare.

"Katniss, what are you –"

"Shut up," I say as I drop down beside him. For a moment I consider resting my head on his chest, like how we slept in the cave, but I decide against it. I adjust the pillow under my head and lie on my side facing him.

"Thank you for coming," he says.

"Don't be stupid," I respond. He doesn't look at me, he just resumes staring at the ceiling. We don't speak for a long while.

"I thought she'd be different," he finally whispers. I don't say anything. I don't know what to say. My mother isn't winning any awards, but she's not Mrs. Mellark. There's a difference between neglect and malice.

"After I came back, I thought she'd finally be proud of me. That she'd finally realize she could love me, too."

She could love him _too._ Like he loves her. My stomach hurts. Peeta's life is full of loving people that don't love him back.

I made a promise to protect him. On the train, I promised I would keep him safe. But I didn't think threat would come from home. I want to hurt her. The feeling disgusts me, but I want to go over there and rip his mother's hair out. I want her to feel as terrible as he does. I don't recognize this part of myself. As much as I hate it, the Games have changed me. That's not what Peeta needs from me, though.

I find his hand in the dark and weave my fingers with his. It's comforting in a way that it wasn't with Gale. I wonder if Peeta finds it comforting. I run my thumb idly over his and he turns his head on the pillow to face me.

"I've never told anybody what she did," he says. I think he feels safe because it's dark here. "People at school. Friends"

"We knew, though," I say back. His face flushes.

"I thought I hid it pretty well," Peeta says. "But if you noticed, I'm sure everyone did. You hardly paid me any mind."

"That's not entirely true," I confess. He traces my face with his eyes, at least what he can see in the dark.

"You noticed me?" he asks.

"Go to sleep," I reply. He waits for a minute, as if debating something, but ultimately he closes his eyes. After a few minutes he drifts off, his hand falling loose in mine. He sleeps on his side for a while, but eventually he rolls away from me and I'm face-to-face with the mess on his back. I'm not sure what I'm looking at. I think probably a belt.

I trace my fingers over his skin. Stay away from the Mellark boys. Stay away from the Everdeen girls. Seam. Town. There are more things diving us than keeping us together.

It's already sunny when I wake back up. I fell asleep in Peeta's bed.

Shit.

I spring up and I'm instantly on my feet. Peeta jostles, rolling over. He realizes it's light out.

"You have to get out of here," he says quickly.

"I know!" I say, searching the floor for my shoes. When I get home, I spy my mother through the kitchen window. I can't go in through the front door. I run along the side of the house, finding the tree that grows outside the spare bedroom between Prim's and mine. I leap to the bottom branch, swinging my legs over the top. I climb until I reach the bedroom window, push it in slightly, and drop to the floor. I smack my knee hard. It's going to bruise. I can't think about that right now. Instead I take off my shoes and pad downstairs barefoot like I'm coming down from my own room.

"Morning," my mother says as I arrive in the kitchen.

"Morning," I say back, grabbing a mug from the cupboard and pouring myself some coffee.

"What was that bang?" she asks as she scrambles eggs in a skillet.

"Buttercup," I answer. "He knocked something over." It's a good excuse but I'm a terrible liar. My mother just looks at me and nods, but I can tell she doesn't buy it.

"Are you feeling better? You seemed upset when you came home yesterday," she responds. It feels like a lifetime ago. I think back and then the memory of Gale, his confession, the kiss… All of that had slipped from my mind the moment I saw Peeta's face.

"Yeah," I say, sipping the coffee slowly. "I had a fight with Gale. Sort of."

My mother pauses as if debating whether or not she should respond. "He was really wrecked after you left," she tells me. "He was at our house every day with game. Told us he'd made you a promise." My mother watches me for a reaction. It's no secret she expects Gale and I will end up together. As does his mother. As does practically everyone in the Seam. But I've never felt that way about him. And up until yesterday, I thought he'd never felt that way either. She sighs. "Maybe you should give Gale a break. I know what happened to you in the Arena was terrible. But things weren't great on this end either."

I've never really taken myself out of my own shoes and tried to imagine the Hunger Games experience from the perspective of my mother or Gale. What if felt like to come home without me. Watching me running for my life, fighting for my life. Knowing the odds weren't in my favor and the most likely outcome is that they'd eventually watch me die. I imagine what it would be like to watch Gale in an Arena, a thousand miles from me. It's unspeakably awful. Even the thought makes me sick to my stomach and suddenly my coffee feels like sludge in my mouth. I swallow it hard.

"I know," I say. "It was a stupid fight. I'll go see him today."

"Good," she answers. I nearly jump out of my seat when the anthem of the Capitol begins to play. The television in the living room has turned on, as does every set in Panem when there is a mandatory viewing. I wonder what this could be and make my way into the living room.

They make some formal announcements, but it seems the real reason for the broadcast is some superfluous puff piece on the victors' return home. Shots of the party at the Justice Building. Me hugging my mom. I hold my breath. I realize why this is airing. They must have something salacious. This is a calculated move by Snow. He wants to ruin me, make everyone hate me. Then he can kill me off without even an ounce of protest from the people.

Gale and I are caught on tape.

He'd still have a victor if he killed me. He'd still have Peeta. I'm disposable. I hold my breath, waiting for the announcement. The footage. The kiss. A death warrant.

"And now, for a bit of gossip I'm sure you all want to hear!" Claudius Templesmith blares out like a horn. His live studio audience claps and cheers. "As you are aware, our Victors had something of a connection in the Arena, and I know it's not just me wishing that we'd see Katniss Everdeen return those feelings of love from Peeta Mellark." In the background they've cut together footage from the Arena and the celebration in 12. The way it is put together, things look very heated between us. They use slow motion to draw out a look and turn it into a longing gaze. They show clips of me watching Peeta sleep in the cave, my brow wrinkled with worry. They show him screaming at my unconscious body, his eyes brimming with tears. They show us laughing and talking. They show us sleeping with my head on his chest, his arm wrapped protectively around me. They overlay the audio of Peeta's interview confessing his love. It all looks very romantic.

"I'm sure many of you are wondering how our little lovebirds have been doing since their return to the coal district," Caesar says. The footage shows me wrapped in Gale's arms at the train station. It catches me looking back at Peeta with his family, but ultimately leaving without so much as a goodbye. There's a snippet of my mother telling the press that I'm too young to have a boyfriend. I give her a look. I didn't know she'd talked to them. Haymitch must be losing his mind. I can barely breathe and I'm getting dizzy.

"We have some covert footage of one of our victors, Miss Katniss Everdeen! This will clear the air of what's happening in our quaint little District 12! Do you want to see it?" The crowd goes wild at Caesar's words. I feel like the floor might drop out from under me. I gulp. I'm sure they'll cut the part where I pushed Gale away. When I ran from the Meadow. I'm sure it will just show us holding hands. The kiss. I can feel my mother's eyes on me as we both wait for the film to air.

The screen cuts and I'm surprised when it's not the Meadow. It's a still of Peeta's front door. The way the picture looks, it's clearly been filmed at night. The film shows me silently approaching his house, entering without knocking like I'm expected. It shows the lights go out in the kitchen then on in the bedroom, then ultimately out again. I can feel my mother frozen next to me, every muscle in her body clenched. Time lapses, the sun rises. I shoot from Peeta's door, running to my house. The camera changes angle and catches me climbing the tree in the backyard, sneaking ungracefully through the window. My mother takes a step away from me.

My mind races. I don't understand. This just happened. How could they possibly have put together an audience, staged this whole televised production in only minutes? Then I realize these cameras are running live. They probably saw me go over the night before, too. Planned to use that footage, until they saw this even more damning evidence of me sneaking back into my house this morning.

"Well I guess that answers all of our questions about Katniss and Peeta! It seems that our girl on fire is sneaking into the baker's son's house in the dead of night for a secret rendezvous. A lover's tryst! Am I right?" Caesar bellows to the audience, who cheer wildly in response. He wraps things up, recapping the official government announcements. The segment ends with the anthem again and the screen flashes with the seal of Panem.

I look to my mother. I've done anything but stay away from the Mellark boy.


	5. Chapter 5 - Fallout

"You're sneaking over there?" my mother asks, practically shaking with emotion. I stumble over my words. "Katniss, it's on video. Are you really going to try lying to me?" she asks.

"He's my friend," I finally spit out.

"He's from Town, Katniss! You can't be friends with someone from Town," my mother reasons, but her tone is still too excited for it to come off as unbiased. "I grew up there. I know what they are like."

"I'm sure someone said the same thing to Dad about you," I say, my speech more hateful than I mean it to be.

"That was different," my mother answers quickly.

"How is it any different?" I retort. She's silent for a moment, but no less charged. "The Games changed things. I can't just pretend like it didn't happen."

"The Games are over!" my mother exclaims.

"The Games are never over!" I yell. I take a breath. "The Games are never over; not for those of us that manage to survive. I am trapped in that Arena every time I close my eyes. I can't let my guard down. I can't _stop_. Why do you think Haymitch drinks all the time? I'm not a Victor, Mom. Can't you see that? I'm a survivor. Peeta. Me. Haymitch. We are survivors. We are just doing what we have to do to get through the day and make it to the next one." I'm frustrated. I hate that I'm saying any of this. It makes me look weak. Even that thought sends me reeling. Why should I care if I look weak in front of my mother? She's not a sponsor. She's not an enemy. I take a deep breath.

"Katniss, I'm so –" she starts but I cut her off.

"He's not like what you said. He doesn't look down at me. He doesn't think I'm worthless. He's…" I grapple for the word. "He's nice."

"Lot of Townsfolk seem nice, until they aren't," she replies. "Whatever is going on between you… These nighttime rendezvouses or whatever you call them… It needs to stop before you get hurt."

"You don't get a say!" I spit back. I don't give her time to react. This is not about some boy. This is not even about the threat on my life. This is about the fundamental parts of our relationship that have been irreparably broken for years. "You gave up having a say in my life the day Dad died. You have not been my mother in _years_. Don't start pretending now just because I broke your stupid rule. This is my house, not yours. I'm not some child anymore. I can't cater to your precious bruised sensitivities."

She stares at me as guilt percolates in my stomach, but I don't drop my eyes. My chest huffs like I'm ready for a fight, but she just deflates. It should amplify the guilt, but instead it just makes me more upset.

"I have a headache. I'm going upstairs," my mother excuses herself, her feet heavy on each step. Of course. Of course she can't even stay and talk to me. Why would she fight with me? _For_ me? Because when push comes to shove, she's still the weak, broken woman who let her daughters nearly starve to death.

There are bigger things I need to worry about right now than my mother's welfare.

I shoot out the front door, although this time I go to a different victor's house. I slam my fist on Haymitch Abernathy's door to no avail. I finally shove it open. At the smell, I take a step back. It's putrid. Stale beer and vomit and rotten food. I find Haymitch in the kitchen bustling around.

"You ruined my nap," he harps, finding a mostly empty bottle of white liquor, tilting his head back, and trying to shake the last few drops into his mouth.

"I just got here," I retort.

"The you on the TV," he complains.

"I need to talk to you," I insist, but he just stumbles to the sink and drops the empty bottle inside with a clang. Haymitch is not in the talking mood. I scowl at him.

"Fine," he says, finding some shoes and throwing them on his feet without any socks. "Let's go."

We walk to the Hob. Haymitch is out of liquor anyway. He's Rooba's best customer, and he can pay, which is more than most of us from the Seam can say. On the way, he says under his breath, "It's a good thing."

"It's not a good thing," I reply. "No one around here is going to be okay thinking I'm sneaking to a Townie's house to fool around."

"Aren't you?" Haymitch says back.

"No! He's my friend," I answer insistently.

"Sure he is," Haymitch replies. "Look, forget about the sideways looks you'll get here. It's not unheard of, and frankly, even a lot of people from Twelve are rooting for you kids. Star-crossed lovers and all that shit."

I pretend I didn't hear that. "I don't understand why the president would play that tape. I thought _I_ was supposed to convince _him_. Why would he help me?"

"Because if people buy your love story, the Capitol doesn't look stupid," Haymitch rants like I'm an idiot. "Don't forget we've got the Tour coming up. He wants to sell this story. He wants the country looking at you and not at what really has him worried."

"And what's that?" I ask, but before the words are out of my mouth I know. Rebellion. "I thought…" I keep my voice low. "I thought he was going to play footage of Gale kissing me yesterday."

"WHAT?" Haymitch nearly trips as he slams to a complete stop. "What were you thinking?"

"I stopped it. I ran off. But… I thought Snow would use that to turn the people against me," I reply.

"No, not yet," Haymitch answers. "But if he needs it, _when_ he needs it, he will use it. You just put a target on that boy's back."

It's hard to concentrate from there. We go to the Hob. Haymitch buys liquor. I buy a bag of apples from Caty Miller's mom. Most everyone acts normal. Some give me snide looks, but others offer a smile that might have otherwise been reserved. Some tell me congratulations on winning the Games, which just makes me feel awkward. The Hob is mostly Seamsfolk. As I fill my cup at the watering hole, I hear someone sneer viciously under their breath, "Our kind not good enough for you?" I turn around but no one is there.

Haymitch and I part ways and I head to the Seam, a consolation gift in my hands. When I knock on the door of the Hawthorne house, Vick answers. He's almost to my chest now. He has a bright smile and big teeth that are too crowded in his mouth. I smile.

"Hey Vick, is Gale here?" I ask. He doesn't answer, he just immediately bellows Gale's name into the house behind him. Gale comes the door dressed in his hunting gear.

"I was just heading out," he says, pushing his way past me. I drop the bag of apples in Vick's hand and turn to chase after Gale.

"Hey, wait!" I call out, but he keeps up his furious pace to the fence. "Gale, I'm sorry!"

He slams to a stop and looks at me expectantly. I don't say anything else, so he walks toward the fence.

"Stop, you know you can't go out there right now!"

"Why?" he asks.

"Because people are watching me, Gale!" I answer.

"Yeah, that was pretty obvious this morning," he grumbles, turning away from me and back toward the fence.

"It wasn't what it looked like," I insist.

"Really? Because it looked like you are whoring yourself out to a Townie!" Gale responds angrily, and before I know what I'm doing I slap him hard across the face. He falls back on one foot, then raises a hand to his cheek.

We stare at each other. I don't know how we got here. Gale never would have said that to me before the Games. He's always been angry, yes, but at the Capitol. At the merchants who give him raw deals that he's too poor to refuse. At how he's too old to collect tesserae now, so Rory had to put his name in the Reaping bowl five extra times this year, yet someone from Town will never have to do that. But he's never been angry at me. The betrayal is palpable in the air between us. He turns away and ducks under the fence. I stand on the other side. I can't scream his name. I can't draw attention to him trespassing on Capitol land. I shouldn't even be here. They've probably got this on tape now, too. Gale breaking the law.

I didn't even get a chance to warn him. I just made it worse.

I watch the woods where I can see Gale's silhouette disappearing in the shadow of the trees. He doesn't turn back.

That evening I sit at the dinner table but I don't eat. I've hardly had any appetite at all since coming back. I only eat out of obligation. There are hungry children in the Seam. Prim prods my ribs gently and offers a smile. My mother ignores me entirely. I clean off the table, washing dishes while Prim dries. My mother goes to the living room and buries herself in a book about medicinal herbs I brought her back from the Capitol.

"So….." Prim starts, a blushing grin on her face.

"So what?" I say, although I know what's coming. Maybe she slept through the airing but this morning's viewing has been the talk of the district.

"So do you love him back?" Prim asks. I roll my eyes.

"I don't do that," I answer. I don't. I will never get married. I will never have kids, just to watch their names end up in a Reaping bowl. I will what's left of my life in this house and die. I will never give the Capitol more than that.

"It's not something you do or don't do, Katniss. Maybe you can choose to act on it or not, but you can't help it if you love him," Prim offers, placing a clean plate in the cupboard. All of our plates match. We have enough to feed an army. I wonder if we'll ever get any more than three deep. If the rest of the plates will just gather dust and yellow.

"I don't –" The sentence is lost on my lips at the sound of a horrible boom outside. The house shakes. I feel as though everything slows down. I watch the wet plate I'm holding slip from my hand and smash into the floor, shards shooting in every direction. I lock eyes with Prim.

"Peeta," I breathe, and things suddenly move in real time again. It's all too fast for me to control.

"Peeta!" I scream and bolt toward the door. I realize my sister is right behind me. I stop and shove her backwards into my mother's arms. "Stay here. Don't leave," I order, before sprinting from the house. "Peeta!" I scream again as I run across the lawn.

"Katniss!" Peeta is on his front steps, the door hanging on its hinges as his eyes dart toward my house, then on me. "Katniss!"

He leaps from his porch, ignoring the stairs entirely. I crash into him on his lawn.

"It's okay, it's okay. I'm here," he whispers into my hair. I can feel my pulse hammering hard in my chest, my throat, my wrists. I can hardly breathe. My hands run over his face, making sure he's real, he's safe. I can feel his body, too, on fire like mine. Panic surging and then receding. "You're here, right?" he asks, his voice shaking.

"Yeah, I'm here, I'm here," I repeat. After a moment that feels like too long and yet not long enough, we let go. We're alive. Then the realization hits us.

"That's in Town," Peeta says.


	6. Chapter 6 - Exposed

We take off running. Peeta should be slower on his new leg, but the adrenaline is taking over and he's sprinting through the pain. We reach the bakery and find his family outside, staring down the block.

"What's happening?" Peeta asks, panting but relief evident on his face. His family is alive.

"Something at the train station," one of Peeta's brothers says. Bannock, I think. Bannock is the oldest, although I can't really tell by looking at them which one is which.

"Elias was down there, doing some repair on the engine," Peeta's father murmurs. I know Mr. Flanders. He's the town mechanic. His wife likes rabbit.

"I should get my mom," I say and all the Mellark eyes turn to look at me.

"What is she doing here?" Mrs. Mellark spits at Peeta, staring me up and down. She realizes our hands are clasped together and nearly slaps them apart. My first instinct is to hit her. I could blame the Games, but I know that's not it. Something visceral inside me wants to lash out. Instead, I bury it for Peeta's sake. I feel his hand tighten protectively around mine.

I can feel the eyes on me from the other Townsfolk. I shouldn't be here. It's one thing to come in the daytime, to trade on the back steps of their shops. It's another to intrude into their personal lives. I don't care what they think. They need my mom. They need a healer.

The Townsfolk don't have a healer. Not a good one anyway. My mother's parents died when I was a baby. My mom had been a surprise. Her mother was nearly forty when she gave birth. For a while the merchants called her a little miracle. Her older sister, my aunt, was twenty years her elder. They were never close. Jealousy reared its ugly head early. Healing had never come naturally to my aunt. She tried, but a lifelong apprenticeship had taught her nothing. She eventually went off and married the town chandler. Dipping candles wasn't too much for her. But then my mother was disowned and the apothecary shop closed its doors. Some Townspeople have swallowed their pride over the years, making their way through crowds of gawking eyes to my mother's door in the Seam. The tailor does some minor things. Colds. Herbal remedies. Stitches. But she doesn't have my mother's gift.

She's needed. Here. Now. Immediately.

"I'll go get my mom," I whisper to Peeta, squeezing his hand once before letting it go.

I turn to run to my house when Mrs. Mellark hisses, "We don't need your kind here. You slut mother is not welcome."

I nearly boiling over with anger. I try to breathe through it. "Don't you think Mrs. Flanders should decide that?" I mouth off.

"Go home and keep your filthy hands off my son," Mrs. Mellark jeers, taking a step toward me. I can smell the white liquor on her breath.

"Stop it!" Peeta inserts himself between us. I don't see it coming. He doesn't either, and doesn't have time to brace himself. Peeta's mother smacks him across the face so hard his whole head twists away. He shoots his eyes back to her, shocked, as blood spills from his nose down his chin. This is a woman who knows how to hurt someone.

No one knows what to do. The other merchant families on the street have fallen complete silent, except for a few hushed whispers about the Mellark boy. Everyone knew she hit him. None of these people are stupid. But now it's there, out in the open, in front of them. They can't play naïve anymore.

I can't help it. I lunge for her. I'm screaming like a maniac as Peeta and his brother haul me backward. I feel my hand connect to her cheek before they are able to wrench me away.

"Why don't you try hitting someone that doesn't love you too much to hit you back? I dare you!" I scream as they drag me back. Mrs. Mellark cups her face and cowers behind her eldest son, her authority suddenly threatened.

"What's going on here?" We hear the bark of a Peacekeeper. Everyone instantly stops, hands dropping to our sides in immediate obedience. The eldest brother stands submissively as if nothing were wrong. Some of the merchants retreat back to their homes.

"This Seam rat is causing trouble!" Peeta's mother snarls. The Peacekeeper turns and looks me up and down. He knows who I am. I'm not just some Seam kid from the wrong side of Town. The Peacekeeper turns and takes me in.

"Don't you think you should be getting home now?" he says gently in a low voice. He hasn't taken his helmet off but I already know it's Darius. We often eat lunch together in the Hob. He turns a blind eye to my hunting if I throw him a cut every now and again. I'd almost say he was a friend, if you can be friends with a Peacekeeper. He knows what a mess this could turn into.

"I was going to get my mom," I stammer. Darius looks over his shoulder at the crowd and then steps forward. He pulls of his helmet. His bright red hair is pressed against this head with sweat.

"No need," he says low so that only I can hear. There's no need for a healer here. Elias Flanders is dead.

"Okay," I say back, turning to go. Peeta follows, slipping my hand in his.

"Peeta! Peeta Mellark! You get back here!" I hear his mother howling behind us. He just keeps walking. He's made a choice. It's not her. We drag our feet to the village.

"You should let my sister look at that. She's good with healing. Takes after my mom," I offer. Peeta just shakes his head. "Come on. It will make me feel better." He finally agrees, though I feel like I'm dragging him to my doorstep. When I enter the house Prim comes running down the stairs.

"Katniss! Katniss! Are you alright? Did you –"

She stops dead in her tracks when she lays eyes on Peeta Mellark.

In our house.

I can tell her lips are trying to form words but she just stands there, her mouth flapping open.

"Can you maybe take a look at him, Prim?" I ask quietly, but the commotion has been loud enough for my mom to hear upstairs. I hear her bedroom door open, I see her feet on the stairs. When she realizes who is at the door though, she pauses. "Mom, he um…"

"Well come in. Let me have a look," my mother offers in a matter-of-fact kind of tone. Peeta looks at me and steps into the house. I close the door and follow them to the kitchen. My mother pulls up a stool and taps it, indicating Peeta should sit. He's a mess. His cheekbone is still bruised from yesterday and the front of his shirt is drenched with blood. Prim hovers with supplies – alcohol, gauze. My mother places a hand precisely on each side of his face and tilts his head back. She runs her finger delicately across the bridge of his nose. "It's not broken, but you've got a pretty bad split running inside your nostril. There's not much I can do for that but it will probably bleed for a while. I can give you some hemostatic granules, although it will probably just make you sneeze."

"Okay. Thanks," Peeta says graciously.

"What's this?" my mother asks softly, her thumb running tenderly over his cheekbone. She knows it's older just by the look of it.

"It's nothing. Thank you, Mrs. Everdeen," Peeta responds. I know he wants to run from here. This wasn't the first impression he wanted to make on my family. The illusion that maybe some of what his mother did was his secret is gone. He stands from his seat and turns to go.

"Peeta?" my mother calls to him. He turns back to her. "Do you have a safe place to stay tonight?" We don't need to tell my mom what happened. She knows.

Peeta contemplates it for a moment. "She was just drunk. I'm sure she's gone home and passed out."

"You could stay. Your mother would never come here," my mom offers. I stare at her, bewildered. I see Prim out of the corner of my eye, gawking too. She's always told us to stay away from the Mellark boys, now she's offering to have one sleep in our house.

"Thank you, Mrs. Everdeen," Peeta says politely. "I think it would only make things worse, though. I'll um… I'll lock my door." The words make my body feel like it's sinking. I can't imagine having to lock my door to stay safe from my mother.

"I'll walk you home," I offer, not waiting for my mother's approval.

"Thank you again. I'm sorry to have interrupted your evening," Peeta says to my mom, then moves his gaze to my sister. "It was really nice to meet you, Prim." He smiles softly at her and she smiles back.

We head out the front door and cross the short distance to Peeta's house. "Your mom is really nice," Peeta says as he shifts his weight.

"Does she hit your brothers?" I ask. He's taken aback for a moment by my directness. I look him in the eye.

"No," he admits.

"Why do you let her?" I ask, although the moment the words are out of my mouth I want to take them back. This isn't his fault. None of this is his fault. He's quiet.

"I love her. She's my mom," he answers. We're both silent for a moment. This boy who has known nothing but violence clings to nothing but love. He's fought tributes and mutts and death, but he won't raise a hand to his abuser. At the end of the day, he would rather hurt than hurt someone else. He'll carry the pain for both of them.

"Come on, I'll help you get cleaned up," I say, looping my hand in his. His feet don't move from the front steps.

"I can do it. I've had a bloody nose before," he says. If it's supposed to make me feel better it doesn't. "I'm not used to having anyone take care of me," he murmurs nearly under his breath.

"Shut up," I say, dragging him from the porch and upstairs to his bathroom. I close the toilet seat and have him sit. My hands take the hem of his shirt and he lifts his hands over his head as I gently peel it away. "Can this be salvaged?" I ask, holding up the bloody fabric. Peeta shakes his head and I drop it in the waste bin. I take a cloth from his linen closet and run it under cold water. I lean over Peeta and gently wipe the dried blood from his chin, his neck, his lips. I feel his eyes on me and my stomach whirls. He lifts his hand and idly plays with the end of my braid.

"Do you ever wear your hair down?" Peeta asks in an almost-whisper.

"It gets in the way," I complain.

"Can I?" he asks, his eyes looking up at mine. I don't know what else to do so I nod slowly. I tug the hair tie from the end of my braid and Peeta's fingers slowly unweave it until my hair hangs loose around my shoulders. His fingertips run gently through the strands of my hair, the way someone might run a curious hand over a piece of silk. When our eyes meet, there's an electricity in the air between us. He tilts his face up and presses his lips gently to mine. It's brief, not even a second. I don't think it counts as a real kiss. "Thank you," he whispers before he stands up and walks to his bedroom. He takes his pants off and folds them and places them on a chair. The sight of his false leg makes my fingertips hurt. He grabs a tee shirt from his dresser and sits on his bed.

"I can do it from here," he says over his shoulder to me. "If you want to go home."

I don't want to go home.

I cross to the bed and sit beside him. He watches me curiously.

"Do you sleep with it off?" I ask, referencing his leg. He blushes, still carrying some shame and embarrassment about his false limb.

"I want to. It's not comfortable on. But I can't shake this feeling like I might need to run, and if I don't have my leg on then…" he trails off. I know what he means. His body is on alert all the time. Just like mine. Just like Haymitch's.

"What if I stay? Then you can take it off because I'll protect you," I offer, my tone half joking and half serious.

"You don't have to do that," Peeta breathes.

"How do I take it off? Here?" My finger slides over a release and I hear a whir as it lets go of his body. I take the limb and lay it on the floor next to the bed. Peeta is shaking on the bed beside me, a mix of fear and humiliation and wariness battling in his gut. I look at his stump. I've never seen it before. It makes my heart hurt with guilt, but I don't let it show on my face. I think Peeta mistakes my measured expression for tempered disgust because he shies away, turning his body until I lay my hand on his leg. Peeta sucks in through his teeth like it hurts, but I think it's just that no one has touched him there before. I don't know if he's even been brave enough to do it himself. I rub it gently for a moment and his eyelids flutter shut. "C'mere," I say, lying back on his bed and holding out my arms. Peeta drops beside me, curling his body into mine. His head rests on my chest. We're the opposite of how we normally are, but in this moment it feels right. I run my fingers idly on his shoulder, he twirls my hair in his. I can feel his heart slowly start to normalize.

"You're a really good friend," Peeta says quietly. I shush him softly and rub circles in his arm with my thumb. He sighs. "You should go once I fall asleep," Peeta whispers through closed eyes. "I want your mom to like me and she'll be mad if you stay…" His voice drifts off. I lay there for a minute, debating. I don't have any desire to leave, but I shouldn't take advantage of my mom's kindness tonight. I stay for an hour, until I'm sure he's out. I slowly pull myself away from him and rise from the bed. I watch him sleeping for a minute. I decide to put his leg back on so he doesn't wake in a panic. When I do he wakes for just a minute, then squeezes my hand and slips back to sleep.

I cross the lawn and enter my house. I knock on my mom's bedroom door before creaking it open. She's in bed, reading.

"I'm home," I let her know.

"Is Peeta okay?" my mother asks. I enter her room and close the door behind me.

"Physically," I answer, sitting on the edge of her bed. His mother hit him in front of half the townspeople. For the last few days, they've been looking at him differently. Like a victor. A hero. But the way they looked at him tonight… I would never want anyone to look at me like that.

My mom takes her hand and cups my cheek. It's so maternal I almost feel like a child again. Maybe not everything is broken between us. "He is a hero. He has shown the entire nation what kind of man he is. He just got stuck loving a woman who will never love him back. He's not a good person because of what his mother does. He's a good person despite it. She doesn't diminish who he is." She contemplates my face. "Go get some sleep."

I head to my room. Brush my teeth. Lie in bed. Stare at the ceiling. My mother is right. Peeta could be full of hate and bitterness, but he's not. He's brave and hopeful. He's the kind of person I wish I could be.

And he kissed me.

It wasn't particularly romantic. It didn't feel sexual or forced.

It felt comfortable.

It felt nice.

I let my eyes fall closed.


	7. Chapter 7 - Olive Branches

The next morning at breakfast Prim keeps shooting sly looks to me, then grinning wickedly and looking back down at her hot cereal.

"What?" I ask, but I know what. She bites her lip in secret and I try to scowl at her, but it never lasts with Prim. "Come on, hurry up. You're going to be late for school." Prim collects her books and I walk her to town. The schoolhouse is at the far end of the district, near the train station. I wrap my arm around her shoulder and turn her away from the wreckage. The front of the engine is black where the metal was licked by flame. Some beams twist out. It's not gory, but it feels like a grave.

When we get to the schoolhouse I tilt her chin up to me. "Maggie Flanders won't be in school today. She lost her dad yesterday, just like we did. She might need a friend when she comes back."

"Mom wouldn't like that. She's from Town," Prim says, but the look of anguish on her face is telling. She's such an empathetic girl.

"You can just be there if Maggie needs someone to listen to her who knows what it's like. None of her friends have really been through it. Don't throw it in her face. Remember how we felt?" I ask. Prim nods. She gives me a hug before she turns and walks into the school building.

It's weird not being in school. I still technically had another year and a half left, but one of my "awards" as a victor is riches for life. I don't need a job or school. I have the Capitol. It's not like we learn much valuable toward the end. Math and science and reading all come early. The last couple years are all about coal production and refinery. Many of the merchant kids just stop going altogether, knowing they are not meant for a life in the mines.

"Hey Catnip," I hear from behind me. I watch as Rory and Vick rush into school, late as always. "What are you doing here?"

"Dropping off Prim," I answer. Normally Prim is exceptionally early. I don't see Gale when I drop her off. He smiles at me and scratches the back of his head. Gale still has a few months left of school. He's likely headed to the mines after that, just like almost everyone from the Seam. We don't talk about it.

I don't know what to expect from this situation. The last two times I saw Gale he kissed me and called me a whore. I just stare at him.

"You're going to be late," I state emotionlessly as I turn to walk back home.

"Katniss, wait," he says, grabbing my wrist. I jerk it out of his hand, my glare betraying the hurt underneath. But I'm not looking at the vicious boy by the fence anymore. He's just my best friend.

"I am so sorry," he says honestly. He's never been good at lying to me. He wears every emotion on his sleeve. And right now, he's broken. He is wracked with remorse. "I just… Katniss, I went crazy when you were in the Arena. And then you came back and nothing went like I wanted it to, and nothing felt normal either."

That's true. Nothing has felt normal between us.

"I have no excuse for what I said. I'm not going to insult you by making one up. I know that it was wrong. I'm sorry and I'll never ever say anything like that to you ever again," Gale pleads.

I just stare at him, but I feel my resolve waning.

"You can hit me if you want," he offers.

"I already hit you," I respond.

"I'll do anything, Catnip. What I did, what I said, was just so unbelievably wrong and cruel and –"

"Okay," I say cautiously.

"Okay?" he repeats, a careful smile on his lips. "Are you sure?"

"I said okay," I smile, swatting his arm. "Now get to class before they give you custodial duty for the week." Gale laughs lightly and turns to go, but he catches himself and turns back.

"Katniss?"

"Yeah?"

"It's okay if you are in love with that Townie. I'll still be your friend." He's quiet for a moment. "Are you?" he asks. It's so earnest I'm caught off guard. I stutter trying to form words, but before I can really answer he gives me an ambiguous smile. "Okay then," he says, and ducks through the front doors, closing them between us.

There's nothing to do since I'm not in school and I can't hunt in the woods, so I head to the Hob. I talk with Rooba for a bit. She's upset about the accident. Like me, she thought Mr. Flanders was a nice guy. "For a merchant," she adds. I spend at least an hour at the tannery table talking about pelts. I miss the woods. I miss my old life.

I eat lunch at Greasy Sae's table. She complains that there's not enough fresh game around. I stare at her. She knows I'm not hunting.

"I can't get outside the fence. They're watching me," I complain dismally.

"Not by the mines," she says.

"What?" I ask, my voice hushed.

"Too much coal dust down there. Listening, yes. But seeing… no," Sae answers. "Got 'keepers down those parts though. Gotta sneak by or be ready with a bribe."

I nearly skip home.

"What's has you in such a good mood?" my mother asks.

"Nothing," I reply, but she looks at me with a playful suspicion. She would never approve of me hunting. Not now. Not when we have all we need. "Gale and I made up," I lie. Well, sort of lie.

"Oh good," she sighs with relief. "See, I'm not so terrible to listen to sometimes." I hang around at the house until school lets out. I take my time walking back, hoping to catch Gale. I'm only a few minutes late. I notice Prim off to the side talking to a blonde girl. I realize pretty quickly it's Maggie Flanders. I hang back. Gale finds me and waves. His brothers run ahead toward home, ready to put as much distance between their bodies and school as possible.

"I have good news," I blurt out, a huge smile on my face.

"Yeah?" he says, leaning against the fence next to me.

"I can hunt," I whisper. He pricks his eyebrows up.

"Really? How?"

"The cameras by the coal mine are coated in dust. No one will see me," I say.

"There's no hole in the fence down there," he frowns.

"Then we'll make one! Come on. Be happy for me," I jab his arm.

"I'm happy! I'm happy!" he repeats.

"Good," I answer. I see my sister coming. "Meet me there Sunday. Early," I say under my breath before I offer Prim a big smile.

"Hey! Was that Maggie?" I ask. Prim nods. "How was it? How is she?"

"It made me really sad," Prim says. I frown and open my arm to her. She drops into my embrace.

"Come on, little duck. Let's go home," I say, waving goodbye to Gale.

We set the table for dinner as mom finishes cooking.

"Why don't you ask Haymitch to dinner?" my mother asks. She's trying to fix us. Extending an olive branch.

"Oh," I reply. Not in a bad way. I'm just surprised. My mother is not a hostess. "Sure."

I head to the front door and she calls out, "Ask Peeta too." I lean back into the kitchen.

"Are you serious?"

"Only if you want to," she adds.

"Okay," I say. I head out the front door and go to Haymitch's first. This one might take longer. I knock. He doesn't answer. I jimmy open the door and head inside. He's passed out at the kitchen table. There's a half full glass of water on the counter. I consider it for a moment, then take it and dump it on his head. He wakes up thrashing, a knife precariously clasped in one hand. I easily dodge the attack.

"Are you shitting me? I could have killed you!" he blurts out sloppily.

"Not likely. Get dressed. You're coming to dinner," I order.

"I am dressed," he retorts. I raise my eyebrows and he grumbles before retreating to his room. "Only because I was coming to see you anyway!" he calls out from the bedroom. He comes out, not much better, but at least these clothes don't smell.

"After this, you and I need to talk," he says, tucking in his shirt. I stop and we stare at each other stoically. It's something serious. "After dinner," he says, softening a little.

I drop him off at my house. "Haymitch is here," I yell into the house.

"Nice manners, sweetheart," Haymitch grumbles as he stumbles through the door. I see Prim there to greet him like he's an honored guest. I laugh to myself as I jump off the porch and head to Peeta's, knocking loudly on his door.

"Hey Mellark, get out here!" I tease, but when I open the door it's not the Mellark I was expecting. It's his oldest brother, Bannock. "Oh, hey," I say, taken by surprise. "What are you doing here?" Not the politest hello.

"Same thing as you I'd guess," he answers. Over his shoulder I can see Peeta's family sitting down to dinner. His father is notably absent. Probably at the bakery. When I see his mother in his house, though, I want to scream. Peeta's eyes shift to me, though his face doesn't move.

 _You okay?_ I mouth silently. He nods his head imperceptibly. I shift my eyes back to Bannock. The middle brother, Rye, comes bumbling to the door. He offers me the smile Bannock forgot.

"Hey Katniss!" he says, a little excited. He stares like I'm some kind of celebrity or something. He gives Bannock a nasty look and his brother retreats back into the kitchen. Rye fills the doorway with his body, blocking my view of the inside. He drops his voice low. "We'll leave right after dinner. Mom's only here because Dad made her come apologize. Come back in a couple hours."

"Why are you looking at me funny?" I ask defensively. He words are nice but he's acting like I have two heads.

"Sorry. Just never thought I'd actually talk to one of the Everdeen girls," he rambles. "Night," Rye says in kind of a spoken whisper, closing the door.

I can't focus on dinner. I end up just pushing the food around my plate, then I get mad at myself for being wasteful and shove it all in my mouth. Haymitch actually makes really good company. When I look over he has Prim giggling to the point of tears. My mother's eyes wrinkle and I realize I can't remember the last time she looked like that. Happy. I tune back in but I've missed too much of the story. After dinner Haymitch tries to help clean up, but it's pretty pitiful and eventually Prim kicks him out of the kitchen. I'm about to walk him home when we hear a knock at the front door.

"Peeta," I say, surprised to see him. He has a plate of sugar cookies in his hand.

"Hey," he says, and finally he tears his eyes off of me and acknowledges Haymitch.

"These are for your mom and sister. As a thank you. For last night." He speaks in disjointed sentences. He's clearly uncomfortable but trying so hard to be polite. "Oh and for the dinner invitation." He's keeping his head bent down. I can see an ugly bruise has blossomed over his lip and around the base of his nose. Haymitch stares at Peeta's battered face, his mouth slightly ajar. Peeta turns to go. I put the cookies in Haymitch's hand and follow him down the stairs.

"Peeta! Peeta! Wait!" I grab his hand when I finally reach him. "Stay for dessert. Now that there is dessert."

He shakes his head and turns to go.

"I'm your friend. Talk to me," I say to his back and he stops in his path. "What's going on?"

"I, um…" he tries to find the words but can't seem to spit them out. "I'm engaged."


	8. Chapter 8 - Consequences

"What?" I blurt out. An emotion floods my veins and I can't put a name to it. I don't like it. It makes me feel ill. "Engaged to who?"

"My parents made a deal with the mayor," Peeta says, his eyes trained on the grass. _Madge_.

"They can't do that," I say. He looks at me, almost confused. "You can't –" I cut my words off. He has no idea about the threat from Snow.

"I didn't, I _wouldn't_ choose this." I meet his eyes and we both know what's there, unspoken between us. He'd choose me, if I'd let him. But I've made it clear I'm not interested in getting married. In being someone's wife. In having kids. I'm not capable of anything more than friendship with him. And now it's too late, anyway.

His mother is interested in one thing – Peeta's wealth. The Undersees are the wealthiest family in town, aside from Haymitch. And now me, I guess. If Peeta marries an Undersee, the Mellarks will benefit for generations to come. Madge won't consume Peeta's wealth if she has money of her own. I'm dizzy.

"Haymitch!" I bellow from the lawn, not taking my eyes off Peeta. "Haymitch!" I scream again, and he comes bumbling out of my house. "Where can we talk?" I ask, my voice low. He looks at Peeta and back to me again. His light mood evaporates.

"Follow me," he says soberly and we tramps through town. We end up at the train station. It's still a mess from the accident. Our train delivery didn't come last week, and many families in the Seam are without food at all. But I follow Haymitch's logic. The accident blew out the microphones. We duck behind the mangled engine. "What's going on?" He keeps his voice low anyway.

"Peeta is engaged," I say quickly.

"Well congrats, sweetheart," he says sarcastically.

"Not to me, Haymitch. To the mayor's daughter," I spit out. Haymitch's eyes shoot to Peeta, who looks at him anxiously.

"Well end it," Haymitch inserts firmly.

"It's not my decision. It's an arrangement between our parents," Peeta says. Haymitch gets a look on his face that I can't decipher. He and Peeta stare at each other.

"Did they file your intentions already at the Justice Building?" Haymitch counters. Intentions?

Peeta nods.

"Shit," Haymitch grumbles.

"I'm not following," I spit out. Peeta looks at me.

"It happens all the time in Town. The eldest inherits the business and the younger children…" Peeta breathes. "Do what's best for the family." He watches me. I don't know how to react. This doesn't happen in the Seam. "Until a child is past Reaping age, their parents can make arrangements without their consent." He tries to gauge my face and his expression shifts from frustration to surprise. "You think I agreed to this?" he asks.

"I… I don't know," I ramble.

"My mother had already filled the paperwork before she even told me," Peeta says.

I stopped thinking about us in terms of Reaping age. We're Victors now. It stopped mattering. Except in all matters of law. His mother didn't need his consent.

Snow is going to be furious.

"We can play this," Haymitch says, his mind churning. He gets a distant look on his eyes. "I'd need to work it out with Effie. Make sure it's spun right."

"You're not seriously suggesting he goes through with it?" I insist.

"We don't really have a choice, sweetheart," Haymitch says. None of this makes any sense. "The paperwork has already been filed. That puts us in a tough position. If the kid doesn't comply, he could be thrown in prison."

There are no prisons in 12. Criminals are shipped to labor camps in the wilderness between districts. Some are sent to the Capitol are turned into Avoxes. Most are never seen or heard from again. Snow could easily make Peeta disappear.

"We need to figure out how to make this read," he says back. We stare at each other, trying to sort it out without words.

"Play it? What are you two talking about?" Peeta asks, watching us. There's a beat as Haymitch looks between us.

"You didn't tell him?" Haymitch asks, staring at me in disbelief. I feel like I'm choking on my saliva. He rolls his eyes and looks directly at Peeta. "We are in trouble, kid. That stunt Katniss pulled with the berries. She made the Capitol submit to her. Live. In front of the entire nation. The president is not pleased."

"What does that mean, not pleased?" Peeta asks, his eyes wide.

"It means he had his bodyguards drag me into his office and told me to fix it. Convince the Capitol, convince _him_ that she acted out of love and nothing else. That her defiance was the desperate act of a love-struck schoolgirl and not a 'spark to set the nation ablaze with rebellion,'" Haymitch explains.

"But… it was. She tried to eat those berries because she…" He doesn't say love. He swallows it. "Because she cares about me."

His gaze drifts to me for affirmation. I stare at the ground.

"Right?" Peeta asks, his eyes on me.

"Yes. Well, sort of," I try to manage, but as his eyes cloud with disillusionment the ground beneath my feet feels more and more like sand. "I was angry, Peeta. I was angry that they changed the rules, and you were dying right in front of me. And I just thought…. I wanted you to live and they took you away from me. So I took away what they wanted. I took away their victor," I say.

Peeta puts his hand on the train as the blood rushes from him face. He looks like he's going to be sick.

"And so what now? You've been doing all this… you've been acting like my friend… to what? Please President Snow?" His words are tainted with betrayal.

"No!" I say quickly, stepping forward. "I am your friend." I reach for his hand but he pulls it away.

"We need to call off the engagement," Peeta says, turning all attention to Haymitch. His tone has moved from frustrated to desperate. "Neither of you are safe if I go through with it."

"I don't think he'd kill Katniss to punish her," Haymitch says. Peeta looks at him, confused. "I think he'd kill you."

Haymitch hasn't said this to me before. I've been assuming this game was to save me, to save him. But Haymitch is right. The moment the words are out of his mouth, I know he's right. Peeta is who I fought to keep alive. Peeta is who Snow would take. We're all quiet as the words sink in.

"What we need to do is convince the country that Katniss is madly in love with you. That she was just trying to save your life, not stir up an uprising," Haymitch reiterates. "Look, Snow is already retaliating."

"What? How?" I blurt out.

"You think this was an accident?" he retorts, gesturing to the wreckage behind us. "Think was this means, sweetheart. This was a message. A response."

"To what?" Peeta asks.

To the kiss.

But this isn't a direct attack on me or Peeta. Haymitch rolls his eyes.

"No train station, no train," Haymitch leads. Why would that matter?

"Oh," Peeta says suddenly. I look at him. "No train, no supplies," he utters and it hits me. Parcel Day. The one good thing that comes to a Victor's home district. One day a month where everyone is provided with free rations and supplies. Our victory meant the end of hunger for our people. At least for twelve months, no one will starve to death quiet and alone in an alley or shuddered in their home.

Except now there is no Parcel Day.

This is punishment for what Snow saw in the Meadow. He'll let our district famish.

He killed Elias Flanders without a thought, just to warn me to stay in line.

If that's a warning, what does retribution look like? What will he do about the engagement?

"I'll go to jail then! I'm not risking Katniss's life. No way!" Peeta says, without even thinking. It's like we're in the Arena again. He'd throw his life away without any hesitation if it meant saving mine.

"Peeta no," I say, but he refuses to look at me. He's still so angry.

"It's the only thing that makes sense. It preserves the… what did you call it?"

"Love story," I mumble.

"Right. It preserves the love story. Reinforces it even." he says. Haymitch and I shake our heads. "It doesn't matter if I get sent away. Panem would buy it," Peeta insists.

"It matters if you get sent away, Peeta! It matters what happens to you!" I spit out.

He looks at me plainly. The bruises on his face paint a history of hurt. It doesn't matter what happens to him. He doesn't have a family, not really. He doesn't have what he thought was between us. He survived the Games and there was nothing to come home to. Keeping me alive and safe is the only part of his life that has ever made any sense.

But it matters what happens to him. It matters to me. I try to say his name but it's stuck in my throat like a splinter in my skin.

Haymitch starts rambling off other ideas. He's just thinking out loud at this point.

"We could let the marriage go through and have Katniss play the grieving lover. Let Panem in on the heartbreak. It could be juicy in the tabloids," he offers, but I can tell he hates the idea as it comes out of his mouth. I can't even dignify that with words. We all know I'm no good at playacting anything.

"No. They'd hate Peeta," I finally manage. "What if –"

"No. I'm done being on the outside of the two of you scheming together, like I'm not part of this. Like I'm not worth telling. You should have been honest with me. I think I've earned that," Peeta inserts himself. "This marriage isn't going to happen. I'm calling it off. I won't do anything that puts Katniss at risk."

We stand in silence for a minute.

"Or…" Haymitch starts.

"Or?" I ask, a little too desperately.

"The bride can withdraw, but she sacrifices her dowry and housing assignment. She'd be homeless with nothing," Haymitch says.

My stomach starts to sink. We'd be asking Madge to ruin her life. She'd lose everyone she's ever loved. She could starve to death. Who knows if the Seam would even accept her? None of her merchant friends would marry her. Maybe she could find work but likely she'd live a life of loneliness and poverty.

"It's only been done one other time," Haymitch adds, his eyes on me.

We all know.

Lillian Everdeen.

 **A/N: Hey guys! So... I know a lot of you expressed some anger/disappointment over the last chapter. I get that you are all mad about Peeta right now, but I wanted his character to go through some growth in this story. I would just ask that you trust me and where the story is headed. If you've read my other stories (particularly the Light Up series), you will know that wussy Peeta is not my thing. If you stop reading, I understand, but I hope you stick it out because I think the long game will be worth it.**


	9. Chapter 9 - Too Much

We walk back to the village in silence. I listen to the gravel crunching under our shoes and I try to think of something, anything I can say to Peeta to make this right. Haymitch peels off as we reach his house and Peeta and I are left standing awkwardly outside mine.

"I wasn't _acting_ like your friend. I am your friend," I say. Peeta ruminates over my words, but for once he doesn't have anything to say back. He's speechless.

"Things are just… they are different than I thought they were," Peeta finally replies, trying not to meet my eyes.

"Peeta," I step forward and raise my hand to his face, my fingertips gently pushing a piece of hair from his eyes. My olive skin looks so dark against his; it almost looks like we're from two entirely different parts of the world, not a few minutes' walk across town. He reaches up and takes my wrist gently, pulling it away from him.

"You shouldn't," he starts.

"I'm your friend," I interrupt, but I know all I'm doing is confusing him.

"And I'm engaged," he says, his words cutting. He looks at me, trying to bury the lovesick in his eyes but failing miserably. "We can't be together like _that_ anymore."

I know what he's saying without his having to say it. We're friends, yes. But most friends don't spend the night together. Most friends don't wake up with a scream stuck in their throat and only come down when their _friend_ assures them they are alive. Most friends don't unknot each other's hair and tangle their fingers until they can't feel pain or hurt anymore. Most friends don't get lost in each other. We can't be what we are to each other. Whatever it is between us may be less than lovers, but it's more than friends.

Whatever it is. It's over.

He sticks out his hand and I slide mine in his. His palm feels hot against mine, and we shake hands like we're ending some kind of business transaction, except when it's over we stand with our hands clasped between us, each waiting for the other to break first. To force the goodbye.

I'd never expect it to be Peeta. He pulls his hand from mine and turns toward his house. He pauses and looks back at me over his shoulder.

"Don't come over tonight," he whispers.

"But –"

"There are cameras. They could charge me with adultery," Peeta says. Adultery. I try to pull the word from the back of my head. It's not a law anyone enforces anymore, but it's still technically on the books. Being unfaithful to one's spouse or betrothed. Snow could use it.

"But we're not –" I don't bother finishing. We look at each other.

"Night," Peeta says finally, slipping inside his house.

I spend the night staring at my ceiling. I can't make sense of any of this. How will Snow react to the news about Peeta's engagement? Maybe the paperwork hasn't been filed with the Capitol yet. There hasn't been a train since our arrival. If the paperwork hasn't gone yet, we could steal it. Destroy it. I know that's not realistic, though. They have some kind of electronic document transfer. The information has likely already reached Snow's desk.

Why doesn't Snow just fix this? Our houses are bugged, he has to know this wasn't us. I fantasize for a moment about Peacekeepers storming the bakery and dragging Mrs. Mellark away in handcuffs. That's not his play, though, Haymitch said. He can't make exceptions _._ The law in Panem is the law. It's how he keeps control over the districts. Consequences are swift, harsh, and often deadly. He can't afford any gray area. Every part of this machine is carefully crafted to suppress the people, to enforce control. Even the arranged marriages are to bolster the class system. As long as the people are focused on hating each other, they can't focus on hating the Capitol.

I pad down to the kitchen and pour myself a cup of tea. I stare at the steaming mug and realize I'm never sleeping without Peeta, not on my own. I cross to my mother's medicine cabinet and find the small glass bottle of sleep syrup. I pour the sticky sweet liquid in my tea, but before I return the cap I drop an extra dose in. I put the medicine back in the cabinet and head up to my room. I chug the entire mug, even though it's hot and burns my throat. I barely slide the mug onto my nightstand before I pass out.

 _The Arena blooms around me and swallows me whole. I spend what feels like hours circling this hell, not ready for which freakish memory will haunt me. I pass Rue's corpse, ghoulish and disturbing. I try to close my eyes but I can still see, like my eyelids are made of glass. Her jaw hangs loose from her face and makes her pretty smile fall of kilter. She's just a little girl. A cannon blasts and I realize I have no idea where Peeta is. I try to scream his name but my voice is hoarse and the sound that comes out reminds me of a hissing cat. I shoot off in a random direction, although I have no idea where he is. I scream again and again but each time it becomes harder and I strain more. The Arena suddenly tips on its side and I feel like I'm falling. I stumble on my feet but when I look down one of my legs is missing. The shock of it makes my stomach turn and I fall to the ground. I drag myself forward, screaming Peeta's name, but this terror won't end. I can't find something real, I can't pull myself out. Suddenly Prim is in front of me, her voice sweet like a bird, but her teeth start falling out of her mouth, crumbling into little bits. "You'll never find him," she whispers through a mouthful of rocks. "Peeta!" I scream out again, and then something grabs me, finds me, yanks me from this nightmare._

When I come to Peeta is in my bed, his knees on either side of my hips. I'm sitting up with my face pressed against his chest and he's rocking me slowly, whispering my name over and over.

"Wake up, Katniss. I'm right here. Wake up," he says calmly. This is what's real. Peeta, in my bed. Not the teeth shards. Not the Arena.

"You aren't supposed to be here," I whisper through cloudy eyes, but I wrap my arms so tightly around his chest he couldn't leave if he wanted to. I see my mother and sister pressed back against my bedroom wall. Prim looks utterly terrified. I've shielded them from my nightmares so far, but with the sleep syrup I couldn't get out. I was stuck. "I'm sorry," I choke, then it hits me. Peeta's not safe here. He was probably caught on camera crossing to my house. I take my hands and shove them against his chest. "You have to go, now! What if they find you here?"

My mother gives us a look, my words not making any sense to her.

"I'm not leaving you like this," Peeta answers, pushing the sweat-drenched hair off my forehead.

"I'm awake," I insist, but I can already tell it's a losing battle. The sleep syrup is still strong in my veins. Maybe I took too much. I can't really focus on him, on anything. I just want to fall back on my pillow. Prim comes bouncing back into the room with a steaming mug of coffee. I chug that too, much like I did the sleep syrup. It doesn't really help, it just makes it feel like the chemicals in my body are at war.

I hear him saying something to my mother. I don't listen to the words, but the lull of his voice is already rocking me under and I feel my eyes slip closed.

"Katniss!" Peeta says, shaking my shoulders. "Come on, let's get out of bed," he insists, standing and sweeping the covers back. My mother's eyes stare at my bare legs, how Peeta hardly reacts, like this is all normal for him. "Pants," he says, turning to my dresser and digging a pair of loose pajama bottoms from the drawer. He turns back to me. "We're getting up," he announces.

"It's the middle of the night," I complain as my head bobs. I hardly notice as he slides the pants over my legs, though my mother does. Her mouth is pressed in a line. Prim has a little half smile on her face that she tries to bury when I catch her staring. "What?" I ask.

"Just nice to see _you_ get bossed around for a change," she teases. Peeta grabs my hands and pulls me to my feet. I feel like a ragdoll, the syrup making my muscles heavy and slack. Peeta's fingers tie the knot at the waistband of the pants and I can feel my mother's eyes boring into me.

"Come on, I'm teaching you to make bread," he announces. I follow, albeit uncooperatively.

"Can I make bread?" Prim asks, excited.

"No, we're going to bed," my mother announces. She squeezes my hand tightly before shifting her eyes to Peeta's. She doesn't like him here in the middle of the night. She doesn't like how comfortable and familiar we look together. But she knows I need him to make it through the night. "It will be a few hours before she's out of it. Sleep syrup makes your dreams more vivid. You shouldn't let her sleep until it's worked its way through her system."

Peeta nods and I follow him down the stairs with sloppy feet. I try to sit on the kitchen stool but he insists I stand. I lean on the counter, everything feeling heavy and blurry.

"I thought we weren't doing this anymore," I say. I try to scowl but all of my face muscles feel like lead. He ignores me. Peeta sets out a bowl and everything he needs on the counter. "I'm awake, Peeta. You can't stay. They could send Peacekeepers."

"They wouldn't tonight. I came here with your sister. And your mom's here. It's not like…" He lets the words drift off. "I'm not leaving you. Let's bake."

I hear him talking. I watch his hands. I even measure a few things and put them in the bowl, but I'm not retaining anything. It's making me nauseous forcing myself awake. Peeta rubs my hands and presses this pressure point on my palm that settles my stomach.

"Okay, now we have to knead," he says, flipping the dough from the bowl onto the floured counter. I put my hand in the dough and try to copy his movements but my arms are so tired. "Here," he whispers, coming up behind me, his chest pressed to my back. His arms slip over mine, his hands meet my hands in the dough. He starts to knead with me and I feel his arms bulk with each roll of the dough. It makes my stomach tickle in an unfamiliar way. "Katniss?"

I turn my head to acknowledge I heard him, but I don't answer.

"You're not breathing," he says softly.

"I forgot to," I say and his movements still. I drop my weight back against his chest and I can feel his heart hammering against me.

"What are you doing?" he whispers as my fingers trace tiny circles on his arms.

He swallows hard and his hands drift from the counter to my hips. He pauses, waiting for me to react. I turn my head slightly and nuzzle my face into his neck, my lips brushing against his hot skin. He breathes in before his hands slip under my shirt and against my skin. They are covered in flour. I grip the counter hard as he moves slowly up my body. He traces a path up my stomach, along my ribs.

I drop my eyes closed and his mouth slides to my ear. "Open your eyes," he breathes. I know it's because I need to stay awake, but it makes everything about what is happening between us that much more real. I watch as his hand glides upward and grazes the lower edge of my breast. I've never been touched like this before, I've never even thought of being touched like this before. I don't know what to expect. I can hear us both breathing and I rock my hips back into him. The breath turns to a soft moan as his hands cling desperately to my skin. I repeat the motion and he buries his face in my neck, trying to stifle the noises he is making. My lower stomach clenches and I don't know what my body is doing, how or why it's reacting like it is.

"Up," I beg quietly. Peeta's body stills entirely as his hand slides gently over my breast. He lets out a shaky breath. Everything is so sensitive that I whimper slightly as his thumb slides across my nipple.

"Oh god," he breathes. His palms are rough and I can feel the flour on my skin, but it's exhilarating. His fingers are light. I feel my nipple grow hard under his thumb, and he bites my neck softly as he tries to muffle the rumbling in his throat. When I whimper he drops his hands suddenly and grasps the counter like a lifeline.

"What are we doing?" he asks on a breath.

"I don't know," I confess.

"Are you awake now?" he asks. I nod. He draws away from me and suddenly the kitchen feels very cold. "Good," Peeta says. I don't turn around. I allow him his privacy as he slips back out the door.


	10. Chapter 10 - Hero

I sleep most of the next day. Fighting off the sleep syrup was exhausting. Prim keeps checking in on me, placing a fresh glass of cold water on my nightstand, straightening my blankets. One day she's going to have a little girl with shiny flaxen hair to love. She's not like me. Prim will be a great mother.

I'm awake in time for dinner, which is interrupted by Haymitch pounding on the door. My mother is about to protest, but I excuse myself from the table and step outside.

"You could have just come in and joined us," I say as I roll my eyes. Haymitch doesn't say anything, he just grabs my wrist and drags me from the steps. We head away from the buildings until we are out of reach of any hearing devices. He turns to me, his face serious.

"Have you seen any TV today?" he asks.

"No," I shake my head. I was sleeping most of the day, but even if I wasn't I only watch television when it forces itself on for mandatory viewing.

"Peeta's engagement is all over Panem," Haymitch says. No wonder Prim was checking on me.

"What are they saying?" I ask.

"Nothing good," Haymitch replies grimly. "Nothing about it being an act, though. Seems people still think the love story is genuine. Everyone is wondering how you are. I'd expect camera crews here in a matter of hours."

I scowl. We said I'd be no good at the heartbroken lover. I have no idea how to play this.

"This is no good, sweetheart," Haymitch adds. "It's you two making the Capitol look cruel. Again."

"What do we do?" I ask.

"You should stay put in that pretty little house of yours. We can spin that for a few days while we think of something," Haymitch answers, but from the look on his face he's not sure what that _something_ is. "Effie is being interviewed tonight. She's going to try to do some damage control."

"We can't wait too long or Peeta will call it off. He'll get himself arrested. He'll get himself killed," I whisper fervently.

"I know," Haymitch replies. "But right now he's staying put until his face heals. Otherwise we'll have a whole other slew of questions."

He's protecting me. He's protecting his mother. I wonder if he ever worries about protecting himself.

Haymitch is right. The camera crews are already stationed outside my house when dawn breaks. My mother keeps Prim home from school. We watch the coverage on television until I'm so sick of it I bury my head in a pillow. Prim scratches my back gently before she finally retires to bed. It's just me and my mom. She slips a mug of hot tea into my hands and sits next to me on the couch.

"Maybe it's for the best, Katniss," she says, trying to be kind in her tone but the words make me writhe with anger. "I know he hurt you. The Mellarks–"

"Peeta had nothing to do with this," I say, as if this were her fault. "You came from Town. You know _exactly_ what this is."

My mother blushes and stares at the floor. She does know. It's what she ran away from. She's right though. The Mellarks did this. Maybe not Peeta, but his mother at least. His father. They did this so they could keep his money and so that their son wouldn't marry a Seam rat.

"I never wanted any of that for my girls. I'd rather we be poor and happy," she defends herself meekly.

I just glare at her with palpable spite. Happy? She thinks we were happy? We were starving to death while she was captured in an unbearable depression. It's not like she just decided we wouldn't have pretty dresses and nice things. She swore her children to a life of destitution and then left us to rot, unable to care for ourselves. Our lives have been anything but happy.

"We were happy when your father was alive," she says. I stare at her, but the viciousness fades from my eyes. We were very happy when my dad was still here. When my life felt whole.

Sometimes I wish my mother had died instead. It makes my skin flush with the heat of guilt, but I know it's true. She was woefully inadequate. My dad never would have let us whither to nothing. I remember the night I could count all of Prim's ribs. Her shiny hair had turned brittle and dull. All we'd eaten that day was a soup of boiled pine needles and a piece of moldy cheese I'd found on the ground. I wasn't Reaping age yet, I couldn't get tesserae. So we just shriveled up like a leaf caught in a wildfire. My mother was in the other room, willing herself to die, and we were out in the kitchen hoping not to.

She's been useless since our dad died. She's choosing to be useless now.

"You could help him. You could help Peeta. You are the only one who has ever broken one of these engagements," I say. I'm almost begging her.

"It's different," she says, her voice so low I can barely hear her. "The law is different. I had a dowry and that sacrifice appeased the crime. Peeta can't pay off her family."

"He has money," I start. This isn't her fault but I want to lash out anyway. She clears her throat.

"It's not the same thing," my mother explains. She stops for a moment, as if choosing her next words. As if deciding whether or not to say them. "Madge is a nice girl. He'll be happy with her," my mother starts. She brushes her lap and looks at me. "I think you need to think about what's best for Peeta, too."

My eyes dart up, confused.

"You don't want to get married or have kids. And that's okay, Katniss. I raised you to be who you are and find what you want in life. But is that what Peeta wants? Is that what you would be handcuffing him to?" she asks, studying my face.

"You didn't raise me to be anything," I respond coldly. She sighs.

"What you're feeling about Peeta is all really intense because of what happened in the Games. It will fade. But those of us that loved you before – me, Prim," she pauses. "Gale," she adds. "We loved you before you were the girl on fire. And we'll love you after."

I don't know what to say anymore. I just want her help. I want her to fix this. She might be the only one who can. Instead she's telling me to let him go.

"It doesn't seem to me like you and Peeta are just friends anymore," my mom says, studying my face for a reaction.

We are more than friends. I don't know how to explain it. I don't have a word for what we are.

She doesn't have to say it. I can hear it in the air between us. _Stay away from the Mellark boys._

"I need your help," I ask earnestly.

Our conversation is interrupted when the television flashes on and Effie Trinket's face fills the screen. Her skin is pale and powdered. She's wearing magenta everything, even magenta contact lenses. I think it makes her eyes look like they are bleeding, but Caesar Flickerman ogles over her for at least a minute. They finally get started. Caesar gives Effie an exaggerated pout.

"Now I think you know why I asked you here, Miss Trinkett," Caesar starts.

"I have my suspicions!" Effie clicks in her Capitol accent, perfecting a coy smile. The audience laughs.

"What is going on with our two little lovebirds?" Caesar asks with exaggerated despair. Bile rises to my mouth. I have no desire to be compared to a preening, mindless bird.

"Truly Caesar, it's a quaint little tradition they have in Twelve. You know how the districts are with their trivial customs and traditions. It's adorable, really," Effie explains, as if we in the districts are all children to be cooed at when we do something cute. Her tone has an airiness to it that lends perfectly to condescension. I remind myself she is trying to help us. "Apparently Peeta's family had made arrangements for his betrothal when he was just a boy. It was meant to be a surprise after his last Reaping. They assumed it would be next year, but then their boy was lucky enough to be chosen as Tribute!" she warbles like an out of tune caroler. Every sentence ends higher than the last. She's nervous.

"Really?" Caesar exclaims, eating up every word. It's a lie, but none of them know that.

"Yes! He had no idea. All these years he's been pining over Katniss only to find this out. His parents only filed the paperwork when he got back. It was meant to be a happy surprise!" Effie exclaims.

"But it was not," Caesar leads.

"No. Poor Peeta is pining for Katniss, but now the intentions are filed to betroth him to another. They truly are the star-crossed lovers."

"Indeed they are!" Caesar responds with equal enthusiasm. "And what is the boy to do given this district's tradition?"

He takes Effie's bait, playing it off as if the law weren't something bestowed upon us by the Capitol, but rather some charming country tradition we made up ourselves.

"Well, I think there is one man we can look to. There's a hero in our midst," Effie whispers secretively. Caesar plays along, eyes wide, looking over one shoulder then the other.

"And who might that be?"

"Only one man is powerful enough. President Snow!" she claps. "He is the hero of this story, after all!"

 _He is the hero of the story, after all. He is the hero of the story, after all. He is the hero of the story, after all._ It repeats over and over again in my head as I stare at my bedroom ceiling, the last note hitching up every time in true Capitol cadence.

 _He is the hero of the story, after all._


	11. Chapter 11 - Too Late

The camera crews pack up for the night around eight. We've learned their schedule after being stuck in the house for three days. They are sleeping in compartments on the hovercraft that now makes an obscene home of the meadow. They eat a late dinner and go to bed early enough to catch us at dawn. With our doorstep finally empty, my sister and I sneak outside to the backyard where she keeps her goat.

"I'm sorry girl," Prim apologizes as she strokes Lady's ears. She empties the giant trough and refills it with fresh water. I let Lady out and the goat wanders the yard for a bit, grazing happily on the dry grass. Prim shovels out her shelter and replenishes the hay. It's funny, everyone in town thinks of Prim as this dainty, pretty girl, but here she is shoveling manure and grabbing barrels of hay with her bare hands. She's a beautiful contradiction.

We finally sit in the middle of the yard, soaking in the fading light. We look next door as the light in Peeta's window flickers on.

"Do you miss him?" Prim asks, watching my face.

"Yes," I answer honestly. Prim and I don't really lie to each other. We polish the truth sometimes, give it a more optimistic feel than it actually has, but we don't lie. Thinking about Peeta makes me confused, and it makes my stomach twist in knots, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss him. There is something going on between us, but right now it feels impossibly futile.

"You've been sleeping better," Prim offers hopefully. There's been no screaming at night.

"I'm just not sleeping," I respond. I look at her and tug her braid. "You need to start going back to school, camera crews or not." Prim looks despondent. The reporters can be aggressive, shoving to get a better shot, shouting things that make her blush. "I'll walk you," I offer, nudging her knee with mine.

"Mom won't like that," she replies.

"I don't care what Mom likes or doesn't like," I retort, but my eyes are caught by movement across the yard. Peeta's backdoor opens and he slips from his house and sits on the steps. I don't think he sees us in the dusk, sitting in our yard. He leans his head back against the door and closes his eyes, breathing in the early night air. Prim gets up and leads Lady to her pen, giving me a knowing look.

"Is this why you wanted to come out here?" I ask, staring at Peeta. She's clearly seen him on his steps before.

"I have no idea what you are talking about. I had to take care of Lady," she says. Sarcasm doesn't fit her well. She smiles too sweetly. But she nudges her head, indicating I should go over there before she heads back to the house.

I don't move right away. For a while I just watch him. He looks tired. Really tired. I'm not sure what I'd say even if I went over there. My mom's words keep prodding my mind like a tattoo needle, leaving behind thoughts that don't feel like my own. Maybe it's just the rawness of the situation and things being confused between us. Maybe we should be just friends. Normal friends.

But I don't know how to be nothing at all.

I stand up and brush off my pants before I walk over to his steps. He looks almost peaceful with his eyes closed.

"Hey," I say. Peeta's eyes shoot open and he nearly jumps a foot. He looks up at me, entirely startled. It's an overreaction, but when you've been hunted like prey it's unavoidable.

"I'm sorry. I didn't hear you coming. It's like you walk on air or something," he pants, a smile stretching across his mouth.

"Thanks," I reply awkwardly. He scoots over on the step and looks at the empty space like I should sit. "I probably shouldn't stay," I state.

"Yeah, probably not," he says, although he's no good at masking his disappointment. He clears his throat. "Sorry, you're just the first human being I've spoken to in four days."

I've been staying away from the windows but I assumed his family would be visiting. They haven't, though. Aside from the one obligatory dinner where his mother ruined his life, he's been entirely alone.

Haymitch told Peeta to stay away from the cameras until his face healed. I look at his skin. The bruises are yellow now. In a couple more days they'll be barely noticeable. Our time will be out.

"Rye asked if he could come live with me," Peeta says optimistically. "He's past Reaping age now. He could if he wanted to. But Mom says they can't lose him at the bakery, though. I don't know, maybe we can make it work. It's only a twenty minute walk." He pauses for a moment. "I offered to help, too, but they said there's no such thing as a working victor."

Clearly his help is unwanted. He feels useless. I'm not sure there's a worse way to feel.

"I could use your help," I say and he looks up at me hopefully. I'm sure there are listening devices this close to a victor's house. I try to figure out how to word this. "I want to do something nice for the miners. Maybe you could make them bread and I could deliver it to them."

Peeta smirks. He knows there's more to this story that I can't say. He doesn't know there's a breach in security in the fence by the mines. That I want to hunt, I just need a reason to be down there. He looks at me knowingly. "Sure, Katniss," he answers. He stares at his hands and swallows.

We're pretending that there's a future right now. That Peeta's not getting hauled away for breaking the law as soon as his face isn't bruised.

"Haymitch sent me a note. Apparently Mayor Undersee is coming over tomorrow to see me," Peeta says.

I dig at the grass with the toe of my boot and bury the uneasiness. Effie's efforts were valiant, but there's been no marital pardon from Snow. After a couple days, we think she probably made it worse. Whatever good she did to shift the blame on our "quaint little customs" was undone by making stating outright that Snow could fix things. She immediately the blame back on his shoulders. He could fix this, but doesn't want to be manipulated into doing anything. He doesn't want to look like he's bending to the will of an escort.

People are gossiping. Talking about us. It's what he wants. If they care about us, if they are looking at us, then the important things can lose their meaning.

The respite will only last a few days. We need to fix this.

I reach over and take Peeta's hand. He lets out a shaky breath and leans back against the door again. He's still planning on calling it off. Going to jail. Disappearing.

"Do you think Snow will kill me?" he asks quietly. My eyes dart up at him. We shouldn't be talking like this. Not here. But the look of resignation on his face stalls my protest. He's scared but he won't show it. He doesn't want to die, but he will. For me, he will. Going through with this marriage undoes our love story. It puts my life at risk.

"I won't let him," I whisper, running my thumb over his. I don't know what we are. I don't know what _this_ is. But Snow is done taking things from me.

"Ditto," Peeta says with a half-playful smile.

We hear the crunching of feet on the road and our hands break apart. The press shouldn't be back until morning. Maybe we were caught on camera again. Maybe someone called them. Maybe it's Peacekeepers coming to arrest Peeta for infidelity. "Get in the house," I say, yanking Peeta to his feet and shoving him toward the door. That's when we hear a knocking up front.

The press doesn't knock. Neither do Peacekeepers.

Peeta puts his finger on his mouth indicating I should be quiet as he walks around front. I lean over and watch as he disappears around the side of his house.

"Madge," I hear him say to the stranger on his front porch, although she's not a stranger anymore. She may soon be his wife.

"Hi Peeta," I hear her reply. I creep around the corner and along the side of the house. I hear some shuffling. I think they hug.

Peeta told me he and Madge are friends. They played together as kids, although as they got older they grew apart. Madge is nice. She's one of the only nice Town kids. She might actually be my friend, too, if we ever spoke. We eat lunch together, although we never talk. She sits at one end of the table and I sit at the other. I scare off the Townies so they leave her alone, and she scares off the Seam kids. It's an unspoken agreement between us. Everything is unspoken between us. When I told Peeta about our arrangement, he just laughed and said it was nice of me to protect her.

"She protects me as much as I protect her," I protested.

Apparently the Town kids make fun of her behind her back, though. Something to do with her mom being a recluse. People don't trust the Undersees. They think Madge will tattle on them and a Peacekeeper will drag them away in their sleep.

"What are you doing here?" Peeta asks. "Uh, I didn't mean that to sound…" he rambles.

"No it's okay. Um, Peeta…" She clears her throat like she's prepared this speech. "I watched the Games," she starts. Of course she did. Everyone watched the Games. Where is she going with this? "We grew up together. I know you've loved Katniss since you were a kid. And then after everything that you two have been through... She nearly died for you in there!"

"Madge," Peeta starts gently, but she cuts him off.

"I can't be the reason you two aren't together. I can't be the reason you live the rest of your life without her. I won't have it," Madge insists. "Plus, she's one of the only people who has ever been nice to me."

Nice? I wasn't nice. I didn't make fun of her, but I wasn't nice. We tolerated each other. I realize that Madge must not have a lot of kindness in her life if she considers me a friend. That underneath the prettiest Reaping dress she might be the loneliest girl in the district. I realize I've missed what they are saying, because their tone has turned heated. They are arguing.

"No, Madge. I won't let you throw your whole life away. You're not going lose everything over me," Peeta says quickly. "I'm going to call off the engagement."

"You can't, you'll be arrested," Madge says despairingly. "They'll cut your tongue out or something!"

"Then that's how it is."

"No. No. That's not going to work. You'll be tortured or killed or worse!"

"There's worse than tortured and killed?" he says with a charming smile. He's trying to make her feel better but it's not working.

"It's not funny!" she fumes back at him. "Everyone in Town already hates me. If you go and get arrested over me, the rest of Panem will hate me, too. I'll be the girl that broke up the star-crossed lovers and got Peeta Mellark thrown in jail."

"No, they won't," Peeta insists. He's right though.

"I'm the only one that can fix this. It's the best thing for me, Peeta. Can't you see that?" Madge says. I'm at the corner of the house now. I can just make out their silhouettes on the porch, the light dying around us. There aren't any more words so I lean a little more and I can see Madge is crying silently in Peeta's arms. He gently rubs her back as her shoulders heave.

"People will move on, Madge. Once I'm gone they'll forget all about this. You can have a life, a family. You don't have to lose your mom and dad," Peeta says softly, like a father comforting a child with a skinned knee. She pulls away and wipes her face.

"I sacrifice my home and my dowry. There's no law saying my parents can't speak to me ever again," Madge says, lifting her chin defiantly. "If they give up on me, then that's their choice."

It isn't true. Her mother doesn't leave the house. If Madge isn't allowed inside, she'll never see her mother again. She knows that. Her dad is clearly not in the know with Peeta and my situation. I'd think as the highest ranking government official in our district, Snow would have kept him in the loop. It's calculated, though. Everything he does is calculated. He's not going to admit to anyone that he was played by a teenage girl. It makes him look vulnerable.

I wonder if the Undersees will face some kind of retribution.

"I'm sorry, Peeta, but we have to break up," she says. He laughs a little. They kind of remind me of each other. Brave. Selfless. Still trying to make the other laugh. Still trying to smooth the edges.

"You don't need to do that," Peeta insists. "I will fix this."

"Too late," she says so quietly I barely hear her. The levity of a moment ago evaporates.

"Madge…" Peeta starts.

She already did it. Sacrificed her whole world.

"I went to the Justice Building an hour ago. I filed dissolution paperwork," she says. Whatever happens between them is unspoken, or so soft I miss the words. I pull myself back to the side of the house and give them this moment of privacy. It's a long time before I hear anything else.

"I don't know where to stay tonight," she says.


	12. Chapter 12 - Housewarming

I stare through the box of things Effie sent me to decorate the house with. I wanted Madge to feel at home so I asked her to send some "housewarming" gifts from the Capitol. In the corner is an enormous tropical plant that I'm not entirely sure isn't some Muttation that eats small rodents and possibly children. I put the crystal glasses in the kitchen cabinet, but they look ridiculous next to the three chipped plates we managed to afford when we lived in the Seam. I lay the silk tablecloth on the table, but the table is so small the corners touch the dirty floor and immediately brown. It wasn't this grimy when we lived here, but weeks unoccupied and coal dust has settled on every surface and nook. I grab a broom from the corner and start sweeping.

"Need some help?" I hear from the doorway. Gale Hawthorne smiles at me, leaning on the frame. "I miss you being next door." I return the smile.

"I just want it to look nice for Madge," I say with frustration.

"A silk tablecloth isn't going to undo centuries of coal dust," he says, stepping into the house and closing the door. He's right. I don't know what I was thinking. He watches my face. "I think it's perfect just like it is."

It is perfect. I grew up here. When I see the crack in the window I remember Dad accidentally knocking it with the end of a broom. When I see the lines carved into either side of the wooden bannister, I know they mark Prim and my height on each of our birthdays. I don't need to fancy it up.

It was my mother that figured out this loophole. Madge lost her housing assignment, but our home in the Seam is still in my mother's name. She went to the Justice Building and arranged for a "temporary occupancy" for Madge to care for the residence while my family resides in the village.

"You'll look out for her?" I ask. Gale sighs and scratches the back of his head. "Come on, Gale."

"I will make sure the Townie doesn't starve," he says with a teasing reluctance. I tried to pay Hazelle a small stipend to add one more mouth to her dinner table, but she adamantly refused. I need to find some way to repay her.

"Are we still meeting tomorrow morning?" I ask, choosing my words. He looks at me knowingly and nods. Now that the engagement is off the press have dispersed. Peeta and I gave a quick press conference with Haymitch's coaching. Seemingly satisfied, the hovercraft took off not an hour later.

Tomorrow is the first Sunday we hunt.

I hear a knock and we turn around to find Peeta and Madge at the door. I smile awkwardly like I'm hosting some kind of party. Smiling is unnatural for me and Gale tries to bury a laugh. I punch him in the arm.

"Um, there's not much to see. We eat here at the kitchen table. Bathroom is over there. There's no hot water so we use this kettle to heat water for bathing," I say, setting the big metal pot on the stove.

"Or you can come to the Village and shower at one of our houses," Peeta offers. Gale gives him a look. No one in the Seam has a shower. It's a luxury a spoiled Townie should be able to live without.

"There's two bedrooms," I say, pointing to our room and my mother's. Madge looks around cautiously. "I know it's not much," I offer.

Gale scoffs.

"Stop it," I hiss under my breath.

"Not much, Katniss? Come on. More than half our district lives in homes like these. Just because she happened to grow up in a different part of town doesn't mean it's _not much_. If it's good enough for Seamsfolk, it should be good enough for the Mayor's daughter," he retorts.

Madge looks poised to say something but bites her tongue. I grab Gale's arm and haul him out the front door.

"What was that?" I spit out.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Gale responds, matching my ire in kind. "She's no different than any one of us, and you are sitting here excusing our homes because you've gotten used to hot water! What, this home is good enough for me and my family, but it's not good enough for your Townie friend?"

My face burns. He's right though. I shouldn't be "excusing" how we live.

"Sorry," I mumble. Gale looks at me, scratching the back of his head. It's quiet for a moment.

"I'm sorry, too. I'll be nice to Madge," he responds, using her name for the first time. He has an assortment of slang for Townspeople that aren't appropriate for decent company. We go back inside. Peeta and Madge are sitting at the kitchen table, talking in low voices. Peeta stands protectively in front of Madge when he sees us, but she doesn't seem to want any of that.

"Thank you, Katniss," Madge says politely, standing and straightening her skirt. "You didn't have to do all this."

I did have to. She'll learn soon enough. No one around here like owing anyone anything.

"It was vacant anyway. My mom technically keeps the housing assignment on the assumption she'll move back here when I marry," I respond, and Madge laughs lightly. "What?" I scowl.

"Sorry, the face you made when you said _marry_. It's like you swallowed something spoiled," she laughs. Gale chuckles under his breath, too. I give him a look. Maybe Madge isn't so bad.

"Well, that about sums up how I feel about marriage, so you can live here forever if you want," I add.

"You can apply for your own housing assignment following your last Reaping, but the District frowns on solo occupancy. You'll probably be denied unless you are married or pregnant," Gale chimes in. Madge blushes and pretends to straighten the tablecloth I left hanging off one side of the table.

"I know. I am the mayor's daughter, remember?" We all stand there awkwardly. Madge isn't likely to marry. She's an outcast. She doesn't belong here. Peeta was her only chance at that. Not only did Madge give up her existing life and home to break off the engagement, she threw away any future she'd hoped to have. She's never going to be a mom. She'll probably die alone.

No one wants to say that.

"Thank you for doing this, Katniss. I think I'll be fine here," Madge finally says.

"Okay," I say, taking the hint and heading toward the door.

"Dinner's at six," Gale says to Madge and follows my lead out of the house. I look over my shoulder and watch Peeta give Madge a long hug before he squeezes her hand and chases me out the door.

"Hey," he says, catching up to us on the dirt path outside the house. Gale gives him a look.

"I see why they called him lover boy," Gale says under his breath. I shove him in the ribs. "Ow!" Gale plays back with a smile.

"It was nice to finally meet you," Peeta says politely, offering his hand. Gale looks at me and then shakes it. "You're a really good person; looking out for Madge and all. Not a lot of people would do that. I see why Katniss likes you so much."

Gale shifts uncomfortably on his feet. "Thanks," he mumbles. "I should go help my mom with the kids. I'll see you around, Catnip."

"Night," I say back, turning toward Victor's Village.

We walk to the house mostly in silence. Peeta's been on edge for days, ever since he found out about Madge.

After her confession, he asked her to go inside so they could sort out next steps. "I'll go get Haymitch and come right back," he said reassuringly as she crossed the threshold into his enormous house. He turned away from the door, shoulders heavy with a burden he couldn't undo. He never wanted to hurt anyone. He'd never wanted Madge to be alone. He tried to compose himself but the anger and grief overwhelmed him. "Dammit!" he screamed out.

I pretended not to hear.

So did Madge.

Peeta's family has been conspicuously absent. They acquired Madge's dowry, of course. It technically went to Peeta, but his mother spent it on a new oven and cookware for the bakery. Not that Peeta'd wanted it anyway. She's turned her nose up at every offering his made from his Victor's salary. This money, though… Madge's dowry… That she had _earned_.

We've hardly said two words to each other. Even now, our hands weaved together, Peeta seems entirely absent. Lost in his own mind.

"Stop feeling so guilty," I offer. "It's what she wanted."

"None of this is what she wanted," Peeta says, but there's no venom in his words. He looks defeated. I stop walking and squeeze his hand, but he drops it as if it burns. "I chose my mother over her," he says, disgust on his face.

"What?"

"I wanted to call it off right away, but Haymitch told me to wait until my face healed. He said there'd be cameras and questions," he rambles.

"He was–"

"He was buying time to figure another way out," Peeta insists. "He was manipulating me. Again. Because I'm predictable."

He is predictable. He will put the people he loves ahead of himself every time, whether they deserve his love or not.

"I ruined Madge's life. I hurt people, Katniss." He looks down at me and for a moment his face softens, but then he pulls back. "Shit. No. Look, I know we have to pretend to keep Snow happy, but maybe other than that you should leave me alone. Maybe your mom was right this whole time."

 _Stay away from the Mellark boys._

"Gale seems like a good guy, Katniss. And you'd have to be blind not to see he's in love with you. We should just ride this out until people eventually get bored with us, and then maybe I think…" His words drop off as he looks at me once more. "Dammit, Katniss, stop looking at me like that!"

"Like what?" I respond.

"Like… like this is more than it is for you," he manages. "Like you might actually–"

I step forward and wrap my arms around his neck and pull him tight into me. I can feel his heart hammering in his chest.

"Stop," Peeta he says softly as I feel his arm slip from my body. There isn't pity in his voice. It's concern. He's worried about me. "I'm serious, Katniss. I don't want you hurt because of me. This whole thing, the stunt with the berries…" He runs his fingers through his hair and tugs on it slightly. "I know you don't feel the same way about me that I do about you. I know you weren't playing out some desperate act of love like we're making it seem. You pushed back. You rebelled. But something got you there. Somewhere inside you that was about me. The same way you volunteering was about Prim. You fight for the people you care about. It's one of the things I love about you."

The words hang between us and I am too paralyzed to respond. His crystal blue eyes meet mine and we stare at each other with an intensity that makes my muscles ache. We're not talking about it. We don't talk about it.

He's right, though. I push back. I rebel. But it always comes out of a place of love. I'm not full of fire and hate and rage like Gale is. I just love people too much. I care Prim's life more than my own. Peeta's.

We're exactly the same. We both put the people we care about ahead of ourselves.

"I am not worth that," Peeta whispers and pulls me out of my head. He starts speaking again before I can argue. "You aren't taking any more risks for me. Not you. Not Haymitch. No one is. It's done." Peeta turns and walks away.

"I can't," I say to his back. He pauses. "I don't want to stay away from you. I am better off for knowing you. You didn't hurt us, Peeta. You made us feel something. Those of us that had shut all that out a long time ago – me, Haymitch – you made us feel something." Peeta looks at me. "If I come over tonight, will you let me in?" I reply softly, pressing my bottom lip between my teeth.

He waits.

"Always."


	13. Chapter 13 - The Hunt

"You don't think you should check in with your mom?" Peeta asks as he hands me the loaves of bread, still warm. I left a note before I snuck over here last night telling her I was spending the day with Gale. Hopefully she'll think it was an early morning afterthought.

"No, it's fine," I say, pulling my dad's hunting jacket on. It's late enough in the summer that mornings have grown cold. I swing my hunting bag over my shoulder and take the bundles of bread in my arms.

"Thanks for these," I say.

"It's good to be baking for someone," he responds. "Oh wait, I made you guys sandwiches!" Peeta spins on his heel and turns to the fridge, pulling out two wrapped sandwiches and a bottle of cold tea. He assesses my full hands and then opens my hunting bag and slips the food inside. "Is that weird? It's weird, isn't it?"

"No, it's not weird," I respond. He gives me a lopsided grin before tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear.

"Have fun. Stay safe," he says, and for this strange, brief moment I think he's going to kiss me. Not a romantic kiss, but a peck goodbye. I remember my mom bidding my dad off to the mines in the morning. A kiss that is part of a routine. An everyday kind of kiss.

We both shift on our feet and Peeta clears his throat. "Will I see you today?"

"Probably," I respond before heading out the door. This day is good. This day is incredibly good, I can tell already. I'm early so I decide to meet Gale at his house and we walk to the mines together. He's been sneaking down at night after the last shift ends and dusk blankets the sky. He burrowed a little bit at a time until one night he could slide his thin body under the fence. We arrive before the miners do, leaving the bread and a note at entrance – our excuse should anyone see us down here. We slip past the worksite and find the broken fencing, the hurried hole. I toss my bag up and over and follow Gale under the fence. When we come up on the other side, I cannot help but smile. I raise my arms in the air and take in the sun.

"Finally something feels normal!" I say and we slip into the tree line. The rest is comfortably familiar. We dig my bow out of the felled log. We walk on silent feet. The woods are brimming with life, almost like the animals forgot we were here. We easily bag a few squirrels. Gale wants to set a snare but anything we catch would be spoiled in a week. We only dare to sneak out and hunt on Sundays, at least to start. The mine isn't fully operational and the workers alternate weekend shifts. Less chance of getting caught.

Gale and I spy the telltale signs of a deer run and start following the trail. Normally we wouldn't bother hunting deer in the summer, but the days are getting shorter and the Hawthorne's have an extra mouth to feed. We don't speak, we don't need to, each anticipating the other's thoughts. I spy a doe chewing on a green mossy patch of earth. I look at Gale and he nods. Silently I nock an arrow and raise my bow. I draw in a measured breath as I feel my pulse slow. As I'm about to let the arrow fly, I hear a snap in the woods next to us.

We've been caught.

I spin and send an arrow flying in the direction of the noise and watch as it pierces Marvel's neck. What is he doing here? He chokes, making a disturbing gurgling sound, and collapses to the earth. I scream and fall back on the ground. I lose control. Where are they? Are there more? But when my eyes shoot back to Marvel's body there's nothing there. My arrow protrudes out of a tree trunk like an arm in a salute. I try to focus and feel Gale's hands on my shoulders. He kneels in front of me.

"Hey, hey… It's okay, Catnip. We're safe," he repeats over and over, trying to get my eyes to focus on his. I try but fear is coursing through my body and telling me to run. We have no idea who is in the woods. I don't hear a canon. I must not have killed him. He was here. Marvel was here. I saw him. But as the adrenaline slips from my veins, reality comes slamming to the forefront. I did kill Marvel. Weeks ago. I feel a sob start in my stomach and escape my mouth. I clasp my hand over my lips but it's too late. I rock myself on the forest floor as Gale sits beside me, unsure what to do with his wreck of a friend. But he's there. It's enough. It takes nearly an hour to come down from it all. When I finally do I feel embarrassed and stupid. I turn away from Gale.

"Sorry," I mutter, pulling myself up from the ground. "I just… I thought I was back in the Arena."

Gale doesn't say anything. I don't either. Instead we just walk quietly until we reach the stream. He drops a net and pulls some silver-bellied fish from the river. We sit on a rock and begin cleaning our catches. Gale tries to keep his eyes trained on his hands, but I can feel him watching me in his periphery.

"If you ever need to talk, I'm here," he says. I continue skinning one of the squirrels, as though he hadn't said anything at all. "It's just gonna take a while, Catnip. For things to feel normal."

The word makes me want to vomit. _Normal._ I think back to myself hours before, naively trumpeting how life had gone back to normal.

"Things are never going to feel normal. Nothing about any of this is normal!" I rant. He watches my face and nods in agreement. I don't need to say more, he knows. Normally it's Gale raging against the Capitol, me letting him get it off his chest. I've always thought it was useless, but that was before. I made them do what I wanted. The Capitol is not omnipotent. The president is not infallible. There are weaknesses, and I can exploit them until it breaks. I don't recognize these thoughts, but there is a fire burning in my stomach, lighting my limbs, scorching my skin. A fire I felt before – when Prim's name was called, when Peeta lay dying at me feet.

Anger.

Vengeance.

It's useless to think like this. It's useless to cradle revolution in your chest. I need to focus on what I can change. Who I can save. I can't save everyone.

I look at the game in my hands. To the Capitol, I am not the hunter. I am the prey.

I exhale. Let it go. Focus on what's important.

Prim.

We finish the squirrels and begin to debone the fish. I cut the head off and run my blade along the backbone. I breathe. The heat rushes from my face as I focus on removing the pin bones, each one another breath of air. After an hour Gale finally coaxes a smile out of me.

We walk back to town in the dusk. We never used to stay out in the woods this late, but we are cautious about being seen. The sounds of the forest at night remind me of the Arena but I shove it down and compartmentalize it somewhere. The cameras by the mines are blind, but we try to stay quiet. We don't want the listening devices to hear the scurry of our bodies on the dirt, the thud of my full game bag. I walk Gale back to the Seam. We're both filthy – the sweat catching the dirt and plastering it to our skin like mud. When we arrive at his house, it's bustling with life. Posy is on the floor with Rory, playing with a small wooden ball. Vick is wiping the table with a damp cloth. Madge is at the sink washing dishes as Hazelle puts them away. His mother lights up when she sees Gale and me, but her nose quickly turns up at our scent – mud and guts and sweat.

We can't explain why we had to stay out late. That the new entrance is a muddy mess. That the extra hours in the woods left us exhausted. We empty our game bags into the icebox.

"Katniss, you don't need to give us all of it," she insists, taking a few squirrels back and dropping them into my bag.

"I just thought…" I mumble, my eyes on Madge. We've caught more than enough though. The Hawthornes will have full bellies this week. "Okay."

"Hey Katniss," Madge says with a forced smile. It's not that she's pretending to like me. She's pretending she's happy.

"Hey," I reply, waving my hand clumsily.

Gale walks me home and we get the same greeting from my mother and sister that we did from Hazelle. "I love you, but you smell like rotting fish," Prim says, keeping her distance.

My mother is exceedingly happy to see Gale. It's almost awkward. I put the squirrel in the refrigerator and spy them chatting in the hallway when an idea sparks in my head. I interrupt them and grab Gale by the wrist.

"Come on," I say, yanking him up the stairs and to my room.

"Door open!" my mom yells behind us. I roll my eyes.

"Woah, this is your room?" Gale says, frozen in disbelief. It's bigger than his entire living space, save the kitchen and bedrooms. "Your bed is enormous! How do you even get out of it? Are there beds like this in all the rooms? In all the houses?" He starts to realize these little cages of luxury are just sitting there, empty and useless, while kids in the Seam sleep on the floor. I go to my closet and find a pair of men's slacks and a shirt.

"These were my dad's. I want them back," I say as I place them in his hands. He looks up at me, confused. I put my hands on his shoulders and turn him toward the bathroom. "You stink and Hazelle is putting the kids to bed. You won't be able to clean up at home. Go shower."

"I am not…" he starts to protest but the words fall away as I turn on the faucet and steam fills the room. He runs his hand under the water and the corner of his mouth creeps into a modest smile. He looks like a child. I close the bathroom door and hear the shower turn on. I head out of my room and sit on the stairs. My mom is in the kitchen, cleaning. I watch her for a while until I hear footsteps. I turn to see Gale, his hair dripping slightly onto my dad's tee shirt, his own clothes balled up in his hand.

"I take it back," he says with a goofy grin. Apparently even a Seam boy can let himself enjoy a hot shower. I let out a light laugh. I can feel my mother beaming at us. "I should get home." He passes me on the stairs and leans into the kitchen. "Have a good night, Mrs. Everdeen!" he says as he flashes her smile. I watch her pale blue eyes sweep over him and a wistful distance settles in her gaze. The door clicks as he exits and I hear her let out a breath.

"He reminds me so much of your father," my mother confesses, her voice detached.

"I'm going bed," I respond, leaving her in the kitchen with her thoughts.


	14. Chapter 14 - Secrets

It's barely light out when I leave my house. I didn't sleep at all, I just started and stopped. After the woods, I couldn't get Rue out of my mind. Her tiny hands, her whispered secrets, her belly laugh. I wanted to sprint across the lawn and talk to Peeta, but I could hear my mother rustling around downstairs until late in the evening. I wondered if she was keeping watch. If she had caught on.

My hunting bag bounces off my back as I jog toward town. If I get to the bakery early enough, his wife won't be up yet. Mr. Mellark always opens the shop alone. I knock on the backdoor with a cautious rap. It takes a moment before I hear shuffling feet and the door creaks open.

"Katniss!" Mr. Mellark greets me with a surprised smile I can barely make out through his bushy blonde moustache. I look past him and see the bakery is empty. I let out a breath. "What are you doing here?" he asks. I hold up my hunting bag.

"Here for a trade," I answer, although it's not really true. With Peeta stress baking next door, I'm up to my ears in bread. I don't need a trade, but Mr. Mellark isn't looking for charity. That's not how we do things in District 12. He comes back to the door, a parcel of sugar cookies in his hand.

"These are your sister's favorites, right?" he asks gently, his heart on his sleeve. Peeta told me how his dad worried after my sister the whole time I was gone. I guess he knows my mother too well. Mr. Mellark is so like Peeta. I never knew it before.

"Yes, she loves sugar cookies," I reply.

"The icing is still a little soft. I'm sorry if they smudge. But they'll still taste good," he offers, dropping the cookies in my hand. He takes the squirrels and beams at me. "I see you haven't lost your touch." Right through the eye.

I give a quick thank you and turn to go. I don't want to get him in trouble. I just wanted to do something nice.

"Katniss?" he calls out after me. I turn back and look up at him.

"How's my boy?"

"He's okay," I say back. I pause before I add, "He misses you." I'm not sure how Peeta would feel about me offering this information, but Mr. Mellark looks half-broken.

"I didn't have anything to do with what happened. My wife filed the intention papers without telling me. I'd have never let her do that," he stammers.

I'd wondered. I think Peeta had too, though he didn't say so.

"I'm glad you came home from the Games. I was so worried about you in there. I've always liked you girls," he says. He runs his hand over his moustache and looks up at me with a smile. "Tell Peeta I said hello, okay? That I love him?"

"Sure," I respond, giving him an awkward wave goodbye and running back to the house before the witch wakes up and finds me at her step.

At home I sneak the cookies in the lunch bag I packed for Prim last night. My mother won't bother looking there. After I drop Prim off at school I stroll idly down the street. I hate this sense of uselessness that has come with my return home. I like that Prim's life is more comfortable, but I don't feel like I really have a purpose anymore.

When I get back to the house I go straight to my room. Everything about this place is so neat and precise, and none of it is me. Aside from my father's hunting jacket in the closet and some old clothes I don't wear anymore, everything in this house was carefully curated by some Capitolite. I need out of here.

In my drawer I grab a pair of shorts and I lace rubber-soled shoes to my feet. I shoot out the front door of the house and start running. I run the streets through the Seam first, the place that feels like home, but soon I realize I'm in people's way and so I pull out of the living quarters and to the outside perimeter of the district. Out here with nothing in front of me, I sprint as hard as I can. My muscles burn and my lungs ache and the spit in my mouth feels thick and sticky. Everything hurts, but I'm alive. My legs have a purpose. My arms, my lungs. I need them to breathe and walk and feel.

I can change things. I feel it humming in my skin and beating in my chest. Fight back. I have a purpose. I just need to find it. The thoughts creep back into my head – _rebellion._ This has to change. The world has to change. I am alive for a reason. My muscles can burn for a reason. I run until I feel like I'm going to trip and then I stumble to a stop. My hands drop to my knees as I wheeze for air.

I walk home and drink cold water from the faucet outside the house before drop myself unceremoniously on the grass. I watch the clouds shift and still in the sky above me. A slight breeze whisks over the grass and relieves some of the heat from my sweat-dampened skin.

"Hey," I hear from overhead. I cover my eyes to shield them from the sun and look up to find Peeta. "You alright? I saw you through the window."

"Yeah, I'm fine," I pant. "Went running. My legs are dead."

"Want company?" he asks with a smirk.

"Sure," I respond, making no effort to move. He drops down in the grass and lays on his back, his head next to mine and his body out the other direction.

"How was the run?" he asks.

"Good," I respond. So good. Peeta looks up at the sky, too.

"It's is so big. It's so unfathomably big," he says, tracing the horizon with his eyes. "It kind of makes you feel… unimportant."

"You're not unimportant," I respond.

"I like unimportant," Peeta says playfully, but I understand what he means. It's something I don't think anyone but a victor would understand. The safety of mediocrity. The comfort of monotony. The shelter of anonymity. We lost that. I reach my hand up and find his, weaving my fingers with his. He looks over at our hands and rolls on his stomach. He props himself up on his elbows so he's directly over me, but his head is in reverse.

"What do you want to be when you get older?" he asks. I shrug. I don't _need_ to be anything anymore. I've never wasted time thinking about what I wanted. Either way, I wouldn't want to be defined by whatever stupid job I did to feed my family. My dad was so much more than a miner – he was a father, a singer. He used to make up puzzles and praise me when I solved them. He learned how to braid my hair. He'd bring Prim flowers from the woods. But when he died, his death notice just read 'Noah Everdeen, Miner, M, Age 29.'

Noah Everdeen. Miner.

I wonder what word my dad would have wanted after his name, if he had a choice. What word would I want after mine? Thinking like this is pointless anyway. I will never have a role other than Victor.

Peeta reads my face. "Hey, I meant it as a fun thing. Say nothing else mattered and you could be whatever you wanted. What would you want to do with your life?"

I scrunch my nose. "I don't know. You?"

He has a wistful grin. "I've always wanted the bakery. Bannock will inherit it, of course. He'd probably have employed me before, at least until he had kids old enough to work the shop. But I always wanted the bakery."

"Does Bannock want the bakery?" I ask. The sunlight peeks through Peeta's hair and makes it look like a halo around his head.

"No, not really," Peeta admits. "Bannock hates it, actually. He likes doing the books. He spends most of the workday in the office with my mom. He hates the kitchen, though. He doesn't like when things get messy." Peeta bites the inside of his cheek and looks down at me. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Sure," I reply.

"Bannock can't bake to save his life. I mean if there was a Hunger Games of baking, he'd be dead in the bloodbath," Peeta teases. I envision the tributes all with funny chef hats and aprons and I can't help myself. I laugh. I laugh so hard my body begins to shake and tears run down the side of my face.

"Shh, it's supposed to be a secret!" Peeta says, his grin huge as he watches me giggle. I bite my lip as I try to stop, but the smile persists. He playfully cups his hand over my mouth, but just the feel of his skin against my lips and suddenly my stomach feels like it's full of air. I meet Peeta's eyes and I feel a tingling that shoots from my core down my legs and through my arms. His hand drops away as the smile slips from my lips. I trace his with mouth with my eyes.

"Katniss?" Peeta breathes. I lift my head and bring my lips to his. It's gentle and soft. It feels like a whisper, like a confession. I break away from him and our eyes meet.

"You just kissed me," he says softly.

"I know," I nod.

His hand slips under my head and into my hair and he brings his lips back to mine. His mouth is hot and wet and the tingling sensation in my body runs up my throat until I hum against his lips. I feel him smile. I focus on the feel of his top lip. Everything is upside down but it feels so right I can't stop. He smiles again and breathes a light laugh against my mouth.

"Shh," I whisper, my fingertips gently tracing his face as I move my lips against his. I let myself get lost in him.

"Katniss," he whispers. "We're outside."

He's right. My head drops back to the ground. Peeta smiles over me. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are swollen.

"I should go," I say, pulling myself up from the grass. "I need to clean up before I go get Prim from school."

"Are you coming over tonight?" Peeta asks, looking up at me hopefully. I smile.

"Yeah, I'm coming over tonight," I answer. His face flushes and he smiles at the ground. I'm about to go inside when I see Prim walking up the hill toward home.

"What are you doing here? You don't get out of school for another hour," I say. I don't like her having to walk to the Village alone. No one else lives up here but us.

"They let us out early on the last Friday of the month," she says. I knew that. Dammit I knew that.

"I'm sorry, little duck," I say, tugging her braid.

"It's okay. You don't have to be so protective of me, you know. I can walk back from school by myself," she answers. Peeta lets out a laugh then claps his hand over his mouth, trying uselessly to hide it.

"Sorry," he snickers. "Just… telling Katniss not to be protective is like telling a dog not to wag its tail." I get angry for a moment that he's teasing my sister, but then I watch the two of them snickering together and realize she's not the butt of the joke.

"Ha ha," I say sarcastically. "I'm going to shower."

I come inside the house with a grin on my face that I don't let them see. I watch the two of them through the window for a moment. Peeta's been coming to dinner more and they've been spending time together after my mom goes to bed. The three of us sit on the porch and talk. Peeta draws Prim pictures. She makes him laugh. He shows her how to make icing out of powdered sugar and milk. She sneaks him out back and introduces him to Lady.

I decide to be nice so I go to the kitchen and grab a pitcher. I add tea and lavender to porous cloth and tie the bundle off tight. I drop it in the pitcher and fill it with water. I watch as the tea soaks into the liquid and the pitcher turns a purplish hue. I add ice and stir when my mother storms into the kitchen.

"What is the Peeta doing outside?" she blurts out.

I don't know where this is coming from.

"I don't want him around her without me!" She's nearly shouting.

I look at my mother like her face doesn't make sense. Nothing about that makes sense.

"You," she stutters, catching my stare. "I don't want him alone around _you_."

"Her," I state, like the word itself is a puzzle I can't decipher. "You don't want him alone around _her_." I look out the window and watch Prim laugh as Peeta draws something on the ground with a stick. Their two blonde heads drop together as she whispers something in his ear. He nods with a grin and draws again. He looks to her for approval and she claps her hands. Her blue eyes sparkle as they meet his. They look like they belong together. They look like…

Family.

I don't need to say the words out loud. Prim doesn't have an ounce of Seam on her. I look at my mother and her mouth hangs slightly ajar. She drops her eyes to the floor.

 _Stay away from the Mellark boys._


	15. Chapter 15 - Lillian

Lillian slams the door, the sound bursting into the near silence of the Seam at night. Inside she hears her daughter stir in her bed. She almost turns around, but then the fury takes over again and she storms from the house. Noah can deal with that.

It's past curfew. She shouldn't be out. Peacekeepers roaming the streets might throw her in the pillory for a day if she's caught. She's not sure she cares. As long as she can put space between herself and Noah, because in this moment she doesn't know if she's ever been this angry with someone. Even when her parents kicked her out. Even when the baker spat on her and told her to get away from their son. That was years ago.

The words from that evening's fight still ring heavy in her ears.

He's starting a rebellion. He's going to get himself killed, and he doesn't care if he leaves behind his daughter and wife alone.

"I love you!" Lillian sobbed. "Why isn't that enough?"

"I love you," Noah answered, cradling her face in his hands. His kissed her cheeks, sticky and wet with tears. "But it's about more than us now. I just…" He looked at Katniss, sleeping peacefully in her makeshift bed. She looked angelic when she slept, like a gift from someplace holier than here. "The thought of Katniss's name in a Reaping bowl… It makes me sick. I can't do nothing. I have to keep her safe."

"There is nothing we can do about that, Noah! It's how things are. You aren't going to overthrow the government all by yourself. No one can stop the Hunger Games. No one," she rambled. "But you can be here with me. With us. There are other things you can protect us from." Starvation. Poverty. Death was still a threat, just a slower and more familiar one.

"It's not just me. Some of the other miners are ready too. We could liberate Twelve. Cripple the mine. Make the president give us some kind of concession," Noah said, his words too practiced. He's said them before. He's been recruiting. He's been lying to her for months.

"Dammit Noah!" Lillian dropped to her knees. "Do I have to beg you? Here I am. Begging. Please stop this. You're going to get yourself killed and I can't do this without you."

"What? Be a mother? You're great with the baby," Noah offered, stroking her hair gently. They both still call her the baby even though Katniss is over three years old now.

"Breathe. I can't breathe without you. I can't think or walk or dream without you. I am so desperately entangled in you, Noah Everdeen. We built this life together. I don't want to live it alone. I am asking you. As your wife. As your best friend. Please choose me," Lillian pleaded, her voice hiccupping as she tried to stifle the sobs enough to get the words out. She'd never felt as desperate as she had in that moment.

Noah watched his wife and felt his resolve crumble, but then his eyes traced back to their sleeping girl, barely out of diapers.

"No," Noah said, his voice low, his eyes locked on Katniss. "I choose her. I choose our daughter. I will never let my daughter go into a Reaping bowl. Not as long as I'm alive to fight it."

At that point the fight shifted to a screaming match. They hardly ever fought. Lillian barely knew how.

"I gave up everything for you!"

"I never asked you to do that!"

"You didn't have to!"

Lillian stood her ground. She wasn't just fighting for his life. She was fighting for her daughter's. They wouldn't survive without him.

"You can't leave me alone here!" Lillian shouted, her voice hitched.

"Here? The Seam?" Noah said, his voice trickling with anger. "I've never been good enough for you. Nothing about this life has ever been good enough for you!"

"That's not what I meant," she cried, realizing every hurtful thing they've ever thought about each other was finally rearing its ugly head. But it was when he called her selfish that Lillian went reeling.

"You're acting like I don't love our daughter as much as you do!" she cried.

"You don't!" he yelled, the words bouncing between them as the room fell into uncomfortable silence. He knew. He knew he crossed a line. "I didn't mean that," Noah said, stepping forward and taking Lillian's hand, but she immediately withdrew like his touch was painful. "I didn't mean that, Lil." She looked at him like she hardly knew him, her eyes brimming with tears.

"I have to go. I need air," Lillian said, turning on her heel and out the door.

"Lillian!" she heard Noah call from inside, but he couldn't chase after her. He was anchored by the child he loved more than she did. So he said.

Now, on the street, her mind whirls as she tries to make sense of the whole thing. She knows a rebellion would likely cost Noah his life. If he truly loved his daughter, he'd want to stay here. If he truly loved his wife, he wouldn't give them up.

She imagines trying to live her life without him. Her bed cold and empty. His coffee mug untouched in the cupboard. His hunting jacket untouched in the closet. She has no idea how they'd eat. No one from Town would sell to her after what she did to the Mellark son. Their only steady income is money from the mine. She's a healer, yes, but often she winds up treating people with no means to pay. She can't just turn her back on them like her parents did. She can't let someone hurt and not fix it.

Without realizing it, her feet have carried her to the bakery.

"Lil?" a voice carries over from the back alley. There stands Abel Mellark, scraping clean the grates from the oven over a trashcan, a reminder of a simpler time. An easier time.

"Abe," she says back. It's the first words they've spoken to each other in nearly five years. He is married now, to the tanner's daughter. It was a suitable marriage. She brought with her a dowry and a healthy womb. They already had three bumbling, blonde boys running around the district. "How's Evie?" Lillian asks.

Abel looks at the bakery. There's a sort of sadness in his eyes and for a moment Lillian's chest swells. She did love him once. Abel was kind. Gentle. It was his father that was aggressive with her, and even then it was only after Lillian had broken his son's heart. She wonders how she might behave if someone hurt Katniss the way she hurt Abel.

"I'm sorry about your father," Lillian offers. He had died a couple years earlier. Abel had already taken over the bakery by then. His elderly parents were living with him and his wife in the apartment above the shop. Abel's mother had always been kind to Lillian, though submissive and quiet. His father was stoic. It took her years to earn his love.

Still, she'd never forget the marks she found on Abel's body - the perfect shadow of a rolling pin across his back, the burns in places that made no sense. She never asked about it. Abe never told.

"You don't have to be. I know what he said to you," Abel returns softly.

"I sort of deserved it," Lillian confesses, taking a few steps toward him so she's now in the alley as well. Abel lets out an uncomfortable laugh.

"No. You fell in love, Lil. That's not your fault. It would have been worse if you'd stayed around trying to force yourself to love me," Abel says back, squeezing her arm gently before dropping his hand away.

Lillian stares at the house. Inside there is a woman playing the role Lillian imagined she would someday. The baker's wife.

"You fell in love too, right?" she offers a weak smile. Abel's shoulders slouch just a little and that sadness she'd felt earlier trickles back into her skin.

"Yeah," he says, although she knows he is lying. He stares at his hands. "It was convenient. My parents were too old and I needed help with the bakery." He pauses before he clears his throat. "How are things with Noah?"

Lillian's eyes shoot to the ground. The emotions she'd temporarily buried rear their ugly head. Love. Fury. Betrayal. Anger. Guilt. She tries to blink away the tears threatening to spill over, and Abel shifts his weight.

"Lil?" he asks tenderly, and she breaks down. Abel steps forward and sweeps her into his arms, holding her tight. She's calmed by how familiar this feels. How safe. She hasn't been hugged by Abel in years and yet she still remembers the feel of his arms, his chest pressed against hers. One of his hands glides to the back of her head and delicately strokes her blonde hair as she wearies herself weeping. When she finally lifts her face, she realizes how very close they are. How wonderful and protected and sure and calm she feels with him, how not a flicker of that has changed. Her heart hasn't felt safe with Noah in a long time.

"Whatever it is, it's going to be okay," he whispers.

"Do you think I'm a good mom?" she asks quietly. He pauses.

"Yes, I think you are a good mom," he replies.

"How would you know? We haven't spoken since that night," Lillian replies. The night she left him. The night she broke him.

"I watch you," Abel confesses, his blush so vibrant she can see it in the dimly lit alley. She tries to catch his eyes but they are trained on the ground. "All the time I watch you," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I miss you." He coughs and clears his throat. Straightens his back. Pretends he has more control over his feelings than he does. "But I see you with that little girl. You don't have anything to worry about. You're a great mom."

"But what if she gets reaped and there's nothing I can do to stop it?" Lillian chokes out, a sob buried in her throat.

"None of us can stop the Games, Lil. You love that little girl with all your might. That's all you can do," Abel says, resting his hands on her arms, squeezing them reassuringly. Something he used to do a lot. Something she didn't realize she needed.

"Do you worry one of your boys will get reaped?" she asks. Abel's eyes are distant for a moment.

"Every day," he confesses.

"I don't think I'd be a good mom alone," Lillian says after a long silence. Her eyes sting with tears.

"Why would you be alone?" Abel asks, studying her, the concern to evident in his tone. She sits silently. "Lillian? Why would you be alone?" he asks quieter still, and that's when she finally lets go. Her sobs are so loud she knows people must be able to hear her. Abel shoots a look back at the house, worried his wife might wake up and find them there. He cups her face in his hands, warm and calloused from years of use. "It's going to be okay, it's going to be okay," he repeats, as if saying the words might make it true. Nothing seems to get through to her, though. Until he leans forward and kisses her.

Lillian inhales sharply and pulls away.

"I'm sorry," Abel blurts out, stepping back from the woman he once loved. That he still does. That he will always love.

For one brief but blissful moment, the hurt had left her mind. The constant ache of worry that has made a home of Lillian's bones had slipped away. For one moment she forgot.

"I don't know what I was–" Abel starts, but she closes the space between them and presses her mouth to his before he can finish. Before either of them can think anymore. They move together in a familiar dance they both still remember the moves to. For all the noise she made crying before, every movement from here is made in utter silence. She runs her tongue along his bottom lip and she can feel Abel's heart slamming against his chest. He lets out a shaky breath and turns them so her back is pressed against the wall of the bakery. The night is quiet, save for the sound of the occasional pant or sigh. The noise from the zipper of his pants feels like a trumpet, and they both stare at each other as he slides himself into her. She gasps and reaches back to the bakery wall for balance, gaining little traction with her sweaty palms. They rock against the shop, Lillian biting her lip to stifle the moans growing in her throat. Abel runs his hands across her cheeks the way he used to. It's only a few minutes before it's over. Everything is sensitive and tingling. Lillian's feet slide to the ground and Abel presses his forehead to hers.

"You could come back," he whispers. "I'd take care of you and your girl. I'd never, ever leave you, Lil." When she opens her eyes, though, the gravity of her mistake sinks in.

"Oh my god," she says, taking a step back from Abel. His face knits in confusion. "I have to go."

"Lillian, wait!" he calls out after her. The last time he just let her go. He knew this time he'd have to fight. "Stay here. With me. I know I'm not what you wanted but I can give you what you need. I think you'd love me, someday."

"I already love you, Abe," Lillian confesses. "Just not like I love Noah." She turns and runs from the alley toward home. Toward the place where she belongs, with the man that makes her heart sing. They both said foolish things tonight. When she reaches the door she is panting from the run. Noah immediately gets up from his seat and crosses to her, enveloping her in his arms.

"Thank god," he says, rocking her slowly. "I am so sorry. I am so so sorry, Lillian. I didn't mean any of that. I am just so lost in love with our little girl. I went crazy. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," she offers his chest, burying her face.

And so she lies, never telling him what happened that night. And when a daughter is born with blonde hair and blue eyes, without a hint of Seam on her, Lillian tells Noah she's his. She tells the girls to avoid the bakery. To stay away from the Mellark boys.

And he lies too, telling Lillian the revolt is over, that he is done, that he chooses his family. Never telling her about the rebel plan in the mine. The plan that ultimately costs him his life and those of many other men and women, fathers and mothers, daughters and sons.

The plan that left her alone.

Just as she'd feared.

 **A/N: This was actually the first chapter I wrote of this story. I've written it and rewritten it a few dozen times. TY for reading!**


	16. Chapter 16 - Fallout

"Prim isn't Dad's?" I stumble over my words. I look at the two of them out the window, thick as thieves. Prim smiles and laughs at something Peeta says.

"I wasn't sure. I'm still not sure," my mother rambles, but it's pretty obvious just looking at Prim. My olive skin may be slightly paler than many in the Seam, but she's fair as can be. She doesn't look like our father. She looks like she doesn't belong here at all.

"Did Dad know?" I ask, my voice hitching at the end. Tears burn in my eyes and I try to bury it, but my face feels like it is on fire.

"I never told him," my mother replies. That's not really an answer. Did he know? Did he figure it out? He loved Prim fiercely. He swooned every time she blinked an eye. If he did know, he wasn't letting it stop him from loving her with everything he had to offer.

"So she's a Mellark?" I ask. It seems obvious but I just have to say it out loud. My mother nods her head quickly. She looks terrified. She's never told anyone.

"You can't tell anyone, Katniss. If the Mellark family filed for custody, Prim would be living with _her_ ," my mother says. It all comes hurdling forward. Mrs. Mellark. That cruel, hateful, vile woman would have a target far more appealing that Peeta. The lovechild of her husband and that slut.

"Do they know?" I ask. She's quiet. "Do the Mellarks know?" I ask again, the desperation impossibly obvious in my tone.

"I don't know if Abel knew or if he ever told her. If she figured it out…" my mother rambles. I take a step back. My mind is reeling. It would have been easy for the Mellarks to take custody of Prim, especially after my father died. My mother clearly wasn't fit. They mustn't have known.

Or worse, they did. The day Mrs. Mellark saw me rummaging through their trash for food and threw me out, she must have known we were desperate. That her husband's child was starving. Yet they didn't step forward.

 _Stay away from the Everdeen girls._

She wanted Prim to die. She wanted the problem to just go away.

I hate her.

I hate my mother.

I hate this entire situation. I turn and storm out of the door.

"Prim!" I yell and she turns to look at me, the smile dropping from her face.

"What's wrong?" she asks, getting up from the grass and brushing off her knees.

"Katniss, are you okay?" Peeta asks, concern knit across his brow. I don't look at him. I _can't_ look at him or I will lose it.

"Prim, we're having dinner with Haymitch tonight, okay?" I say with the fake smile, looping her hand in mine. She looks at me and then up to the house. Mom remains barricaded inside.

"Okay?" she responds and I nearly drag her away from Peeta. When I get to Haymitch's house I ask her to step inside first. He greets her with open arms and gives me a nod. Haymitch doesn't ask what's wrong. He's never needed to. He's my mentor no matter what. Drunken and foolish and slurring words, he's had my back since I raised my hand to volunteer. I close the door and turn back to Peeta who is staring at me like I'm made of glass. He knows something is very wrong.

"Katniss," he offers. Just my name, but behind it are a million words. I'm here. I'll help. Tell me what you need.

"Prim comes first, okay?" I say. He looks at me, still confused, but nods his head in agreement.

"I know that. She's always come first for you," Peeta answers.

"No, I mean, she comes first for you too. Ahead of me, ahead of everyone and everything else," I elaborate.

"Okay, Prim comes first," he reassures me.

"Promise me," I insist.

"I promise," he says back without even the slightest hesitation. He reaches his hands to squeeze my shoulders, but then he thinks twice and drops them. He's not sure where I am. He doesn't want to make it worse. But just hearing the words, just knowing that if I ask him to he will protect Prim with his life – some bit of the weight evaporates. I step forward and wrap my arms around his neck. He envelopes me in his arms and for one brief moment it doesn't hurt as much. "You don't have to tell me. Whatever it is, I understand, okay?" he whispers.

We break apart and I mouth "thanks" before I turn and go inside Haymitch's house. Prim is sitting at the table, Haymitch stacking playing cards in front of her.

"I've only ever got it five stories high," he says, building the base of a castle. He looks up and meets my eye. "You got this, peanut?" he asks my sister. Prim nods and Haymitch follows me into the kitchen.

"We need to go outside?" he asks under his breath. I shake my head. I already said these words in my house. The Capitol knows. Great. Another thing I can be angry with my mother about.

"Prim is Peeta's sister," I say calmly. Haymitch's eyes bulge from his head and looks back to the dining room where she sits, stacking cards.

"I don't believe that. Your mother loved that miner. We all saw it. She walked away from her whole life for him," Haymitch says. I don't break his stare. "Shit."

"No one can know," I say. We don't need more words. We know this spins everything on its head. Every thought of rebellion and revolution evaporates from my mind. Prim is the number one target now. Snow can break us both simultaneously with one little girl. Convincing him, convincing the nation is more important than ever. It's not uncommon for the younger sibling of a Victor to be reaped. It's supposed to be random but I'm not that stupid anymore. The younger sibling of one Victor has a target on their back. The younger sister of two….

We eat dinner. We pretend like everything is fine. We stay up late until Prim falls asleep in Haymitch's armchair. I wake her up and we walk home, her head drooping on my shoulder. I carry her up the stairs. She's heavy now, hardly the baby I lugged around on my hip when I was barely school age. I open the door to her room with my foot and plop her into bed. Down the hall, the light in my mother's room shuts off.

I don't sleep. I probably wouldn't have anyway.

This is our existence for the next few weeks. The nights come earlier and the air grows colder. Peeta bakes bread and I hunt with Gale. I clean my house obsessively and spend my days in the Hob. I go to Peeta's at night after everyone is asleep, though I've stopped bothering to hide it. I don't speak to my mother. I worry about my sister as each passing day brings us closer to another Reaping. I contemplate running away with her. Not telling anyone and just slipping into the woods. But I know what they'd do. Snow would kill my family. The Hawthornes. He'd hurt Haymitch and when he didn't tell anything Snow would have his tongue cut out. Peeta would be sold in the Capitol like a toy to be played with. So I stay and fume in silence.

I lie in Peeta's bed one evening, memorizing the weave of the blanket he pulled out of the closet on the first cold night. My eyes trace where the thread goes under another and out again, like some intricate braid.

"Katniss, are you okay?" Peeta asks quietly. I nod. It's so quiet I can hear my cheek brush against the pillow case.

I can't tell him. After all these years of lying, it needs to come from his dad.

So I keep my mouth shut until I feel dead inside.

I don't say anything to anyone anymore.

"Katniss?" he says again, his timber hums in his chest like a lullaby. His arm slides across my waist under the sheets. He slips his hand under my shirt and I feel his palms run up my back. He begins kneading my shoulders gently, pulling the tension away from my body. He rubs my back until I feel like I'm sinking into the bed. It's the most we've touched since I found out about Prim. It's the most okay I've felt since then too.

"If I tell you something…" I start but the words get stuck in my throat. I shouldn't do this, but every moment I don't tell him I feel like I'm bottling a lie.

"Hey," he says softly. I can feel his breath against my skin as he hushes me. I roll on my back and look up at him through the dark.

"My dad," I try to spit it out but it's like there's no more air in the room. "Prim isn't my dad's," I say too quickly, the words tripping over each other like the feet of a drunkard.

Peeta sits up and looks at me.

"Are you okay?" he whispers.

"Yeah," I say, my voice small. "She, uh, she…" Peeta tucks a piece of hair behind my ear and his hand lingers, his thumb stroking my jaw in a soothingly soft rhythm. "She's your dad's."

"What?" Peeta says. The soft night tone has slipped from his voice. "No, Katniss. My parents were married way before Prim was born," Peeta answers as if I'd asked the question and not him.

"Peeta," I start, but he looks like he's forgotten how to speak. He leans over and turns on the light. He sits cross-legged in the bed. He only recently started feeling safe enough to sleep with his leg off, but I can see him eyeing it on the ground. It's like a safety net.

"Hey," I say in a soft voice and he leans forward and wraps me in his arms. He holds onto me for a long time, the night air silent around us. I feel a slight breeze from the open window and it chills my skin, but I don't move. I give him something to anchor him. I give him me. I try to mimic what he does when I wake from a nightmare. I comfort him the way I'd comfort Prim with a skinned knee – calm tone, soft hands, warm heart. His father is the only person in his life who has always loved him, who has always been on his side. And now he's a liar.

"I feel bad," he says into the crook of my neck.

"I know," I say, scratching his back lightly with his fingers.

"No, I mean… This is clearly awful for you," he says. Even in this moment of betrayal, he's thinking of me. I nod. My family's broken. So is his. I try to pull back but he just hugs me tighter.

"Peeta," I whisper. He's buried his face in my neck. "It's okay," I say. "It's gonna be okay." When we pull back, though, he's not frowning. He bites his lip and tries to bury a smile.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he rambles, unable to turn down the corners of his lips. He's… he's _happy_. "I mean, it's terrible. It's really terrible. But Prim is amazing and now… I just… I always wanted a sister."

I watch his face and he tries to bury it in a pillow.

He already loves her. He could be angry or hurt or bitter. He could focus on the betrayal of being lied to for years, but instead he's just happy. Sad for me, but happy. His first instinct is one of love.

I remember my mom's words when I was pleading with her to help with the engagement. When she told me to let go of Peeta and remember who my family was. _We loved you before you were the girl on fire. And we'll love you after._

Peeta loved me before I was the girl on fire, I just didn't know it.

He loved Prim before she was his sister. And he'll love her after.

I watch Peeta as tries to settle back in bed.

"Come to sleep with me," he begs softly. I drop down beside him and I find peace in the one good thing that comes from all this.


	17. Chapter 17 - Family

I don't bother going home. Peeta wakes me up early, but I just grumble that I hate my mother and bury my head under a pillow. He comes back a couple hours later with a plate of sliced apples and a cup of coffee.

He sits on the edge of the bed.

"We need to tell Prim," he says.

"No," I immediately answer, sitting up. "No, absolutely not."

"She deserves to know, Katniss. She thinks her dad is dead," Peeta says.

"Her dad _is_ dead!" I spit out. "The man that delivered her and woke up when she cried at night and loved her until the day he…" I choke on the words. "Mr. Mellark may be her father, but that was her dad."

"I know that, Katniss. I'm not–"

" _That_ was her dad. Not some coward who lets his wife beat up his son and who lets his daughter nearly starve to death. _That_ man isn't even worth knowing!" I blurt out. The second it's out of my mouth I know I've crossed a line. Peeta's face drops. "Peeta, I–"

He puts his hand up. He's silent for a minute. It feels like an eternity.

"My dad is the reason I draw," Peeta finally says. His voice is even but he's so angry I can feel it on his breath. "He's the reason I bake. He's the reason I'm kind, the reason I'm a good person. He did my homework with me and told me I was smart. He did the best he could. He grew up an abused kid. He doesn't know anything else, except for the short time he was with your mom, and she ended it."

"Peeta–"

"No. He has his flaws, Katniss. He never knew what to do with my mom. He messed up. But he's _worth knowing_. He's clever and funny and thoughtful. He's worth knowing," Peeta says as he rises from the bed. "I'm going downstairs."

I wait a bit until the hurt isn't so raw. I drink the coffee. I try to eat the apples but my throat won't cooperate. When I come downstairs Peeta acknowledges me and goes back to kneading the dough on the counter.

"I'm scared," I admit. Peeta stops. I've never said that before. Not facing the Arena. Not in the wake of Snow's threats. Not when my life was in danger. "I'm scared things are going to change. I'm scared of losing Prim."

Peeta sets down the dough and wipes his hands on his apron. They are still a little floury when he sweeps them behind my neck. He drops his head and his forehead touches mine lightly.

"It's okay to be scared. But Prim isn't going anywhere, Katniss. She's still your little sister. She loves you more than anything. She trusts you. You need to trust her," he whispers.

He's right. Prim isn't going to just take off for a new family.

"I'm sorry," is all I can say. It's all I've felt lately. Sorry.

That night after dinner my sister and I sit out on the porch. The night air is cold now, and we wrap ourselves in a thick blanket. It reminds me of tucking Rue into my sleeping bag with me, and for a moment my heart aches in my chest. Heartbreak is a tangible thing. It's not metaphoric. The ache is real – under your ribs, where your chest beats. It aches with hurt.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Prim asks, ever the observant girl.

"Just… how Rue reminded me of you. And you remind me of her," I answer truthfully. We tell the truth. It's what we've always done. I try to steel my nerves. "Prim, I've been mad at Mom for a few weeks now," I start.

"Obviously," she says, but her sweet smile steels the sarcastic bite from her words.

"I was mad because she did something and then she lied about it," I say.

Prim nods slowly. She knows how much the truth matters to me. She watches me carefully. I try to choose my words. I focus on the sound of chirping peepers filling the dusky sky. The slight breeze that rustles the leaves in our yard. I don't know how to say this without breaking her.

"Mom had an affair with Mr. Mellark," I say the words. Prim's eyes open wide. "It was a long, long time ago. She didn't mean to hurt anyone. But…" I feel like I'm choking and I force myself to swallow. I need to be strong for her. I need to show her this won't hurt me, so it doesn't have to hurt her. I take her tiny hand in mine. "Mr. Mellark is your father, Prim."

There. I've said it. I expect her to cry. To refuse to believe it. To ask a million questions I cannot answer. I expect… something. But Prim just sits there, eyes on me, concern knit across her brow.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her worry genuine.

"I'm fine, Prim," I insist, confused. "Are… are you okay?"

She nods. We look at each other for a moment and an encouraging smile breaks on her lips. Sometimes when she's sleeping, she still looks so young. I remember her when she was so tiny she fit in a drawer we kept next to my bed on the floor. But in this moment she looks grown up. She's worried about me.

"I've known for a long time, Katniss," Prim says evenly. My mouth drops open. "I mean, I didn't know it was Mr. Mellark. But I knew Dad wasn't my dad," she adds.

"How?" I blather. I've never for a moment thought Prim wasn't an Everdeen.

"In school, remember learning about genes and stuff?" she asks, her eyebrow pricked. Sort of. I remember learning things like your earlobes are attached or not and that means something. I look at her. "Blue eyes are a recessive gene. You can't have blue eyes unless _both_ of your parents are either blue-eyed or carry the blue-eyed recessive gene." She smiles thoughtfully at me, but she knows she's gone over my head. "The only way to carry the blue-eyed recessive gene is to have a blue-eyed person in your family that passed it down to you. Like you, for example. You could have a blue-eyed child because mom has blue eyes."

I scowl at her. She rolls her eyes playfully.

"That's not my point, Katniss. I just mean… Dad didn't have a blue-eyed recessive gene. He's Seam from as far back as his family tree goes," Prim explains. I think back to the family tree dad has etched in the back of some old religious book. It's not a text we even read or use anymore, but his family history is there dating back before the Dark Days. There's never been anyone in our family that wasn't Seam. I look at Prim, my eyes sting.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask, weaving her fingers in mine. She's had to carry this burden alone for years.

"I didn't want you to hate Mom," she says knowingly. I reach up my hand and gently cup her cheek. She leans into it. "And it didn't change how I felt about Dad."

"You're a perfect person, you know that?" I say, brushing her cheekbone with my thumb.

"I want to meet him," Prim says cautiously. "Mr. Mellark. I want to meet him."

"Okay, little duck," I promise, even though it makes my stomach hurt.

She smiles and stands, our blanket filling with the bitterly cold air.

"I'm going to bed," she announces, turning toward the house. "Oh and Katniss?" she says, perched on the threshold. I look up at her. "Forgive Mom. I know she doesn't always say the right thing, but she's trying. You need to try, too."

As we walk to the back of the bakery the next morning, my head is a mess. I'm not sure this is the right thing to do. Prim stands next to me, her hand gripping mine like a vice. Peeta is on her other side, arm looped protectively through Prim's. It's barely light out.

"No one else will be up," Peeta whispers.

Prim is wearing her Reaping skirt. She wants to look pretty. Looking at her large, expectant eyes nearly breaks my heart. When we reach the back door I raise my fist to knock, but Peeta steps up and slowly opens the door.

"Dad?" I hear him whisper. In the shadows of the bakery I can see a man stand up from the table. He and Peeta hug for a moment. Peeta leads him to the door and down the back steps until Abel Mellark is in the alley. His eyes are brimming with tears and his wide smile is buried by his moustache.

"Dad, this is Primrose Everdeen," Peeta says. Prim smiles brightly and does a little curtsy, like she is meeting a king or some kind of royalty.

"Primrose. What a pretty name," Mr. Mellark says. He doesn't know what to do either, so he reaches out his hand and offers it to her. Instead, Prim steps forward and slips inside his arms. He wraps them around her and takes a short breath.

Well, if I wondered where Prim got her sensitivity from, it was probably him.

"We shouldn't stay long," I say. Prim nods her head and steps back from her father.

"Did you, um, did you send me those cookies?" Prim asks. My ears prick up.

"What cookies?" I ask.

"Every day you were gone in the Games a parcel of frosted cookies was left on our doorstep," Prim says to me, never taking her eyes off Mr. Mellark.

"Yes, I had Rye sneak them down there during closing deliveries," Mr. Mellark offers. "I knew you were heartbroken, and I thought maybe something nice might help." He swallows. "I'm sorry, Primrose. I wanted to say something so long ago, but your father was such a good man and he loved you so so much. I didn't want to ruin that for you. I couldn't wreck a family."

I think back to life with our dad. His smile, his laugh. A table full of game and apples and…

"Bread," I breathe, looking up at him. "We always had bread when we were kids. Dad said he got it at the Hob," I ramble. No one from Town would trade with my dad, not for years. Mr. Mellark blushes and looks at his feet. "But he didn't, did he? He got it from you."

Mr. Mellark shifts his weight on his feet. "I don't know if your father knew about Primrose, but he knew I loved your mother. He knew I'd do anything to help her. I've always made a good trade."

"Then why didn't you help when…?" My voice drops off but the accusation is clear. When my father died. When we nearly died.

"Evie was watching me like a hawk then. She thought your mom might come around looking to rekindle things with me, that I might…" He can't finish. "I tried to help. I went over there one night with a loaf of bread. I left it outside and when I got home she was waiting in the kitchen for me. The next morning, she..." Mr. Mellark looks at Peeta and then stares at his worn, old shoes. "She shoved Peeta into the oven door and held him there until he burned through his shirt."

We are all completely silent. I saw that mark on his back in the Arena, before they polished everything away. Peeta is holding his breath.

"I didn't know what to do," Mr. Mellark's voice hitches. "I stopped going to the Everdeen house. I never left the bakery, never gave her a reason to doubt me. I needed to protect my son. I didn't know things had gotten so bad. Primrose, I am so sorry."

None of us know what to say, but our silence is interrupted by a vicious hiss from above.

"What is this?" I hear a voice snarl from the steps. I look up and find Mrs. Mellark standing in doorway of the bakery. Prim leaps back from Mr. Mellark and I shove her behind me. The witch's feet slap the few wooden steps until she reaches the ground with the rest of us. She's a broad woman with wide shoulders and a slight hunch to her back that makes her appear shorter than she is. I can already smell liquor on her breath – stale and sweet and pungent all that the same time. I can't tell if she's drunk or hungover. I'm not sure it matters.

"What is this?" she asks again, staring at us. It's then that my little sister finds her voice. One look at Prim and it's obvious. Mrs. Mellark knows. Prim clears her throat and steps toward the hateful woman.

"Look, I don't know what happened to you. I'm sure something terrible to make you act like such an awful person today. And whatever it is, I'm sorry. But you need to find it somewhere in your heart to forgive, because I already lost one dad and I'm not losing another," Prim says, lifting her trembling chin up defiantly.

"You little–"

I don't see it, but Peeta does. He sees her shoulder drop, her back foot press to the ground, her weight shift. He knows when someone is about to get hit. And when Mrs. Mellark's arm flies back to start its descent forward, Peeta catches it in midair with a loud clap. Her eyes bulge out of head as she stumbles backward and turns toward her son.

"Peeta, let go," she barks. The muscle bulges from Peeta's arm as he forces her away from Prim. "Stop it, you are hurting me!"

Peeta's eyes are nearly black, his voice low. "I'm going to make something very clear to you. Prim doesn't get touched. Not ever. If I even so much as hear that you've breathed a hurtful word about her…"

"You'll what?" she interrupts.

"I won't stop _her_ ," Peeta says, his head gesturing to me. I straighten my back and glare. Mrs. Mellark looks me up and down. I am a monster shaped by a lifetime of poverty and an Arena of death. I've killed without thought. I've killed in vengeance and anger. I'm a threat. Peeta finally drops her arm. Mrs. Mellark rubs it with her hand but doesn't take her eyes off me. She's terrified. She backs up the stairs, tripping on the first step before she disappears into the bakery. Peeta lets out a breath as Prim steps forward and wraps her tiny arms around him.

"Thanks," she says into his shirt. I see Peeta let out a breath. A smile breaks across his face.

He stood up to her. And he won.

"We should go," I say, and Prim nods but throws a look back at Mr. Mellark.

"Can I see you again?" she asks, her eyes wide and doe-like, a look she's perfected on me over the years. A look no one can refuse.

"If you want to," he offers with a shy smile.

We turn to go and Peeta looks over his shoulder.

"Bye Dad," he says casually, but there's something new between them. Honesty. Understanding.

"Yeah. Bye Dad," Prim repeats. I see Peeta grab her hand and squeeze it tight.


	18. Chapter 18 - Trying

We have a couple hours before Prim needs to head to school. We walk around Town for a bit. The shops are all closed up tight.

"We can go to the Market. It's not open yet but Delly will let us in," Peeta offers, pointing to the shop across the street.

The Market is a place a person from the Seam would never go. They buy overstock items from the supply trains and sell them to merchants who cannot wait until the next delivery – batteries, sugar, wax, broth, thread… The prices are fair. Because 12 is the last stop on the supply train, the Cartwrights get the goods at a significant discount. They sell them almost at face value, with only a marginal mark up for convenience. If a Seamsperson needed any of these things, we'd make a trade in the Hob. We don't deal much in coin.

I don't know the Cartwrights. They've never been in need of a trade.

Peeta pushes the shop door open and the bell on the top jingles to announce our entrance.

"We're not open yet," I hear a sweet voice call out from the back of the shop. If that is supposed to be a scold it's not a very good one. "Oh, Peet!" Delly smiles when she realizes who is out front. Her teeth are all pearly white and straight as a picket fence. She rushes forward, her blonde curls bouncing as she wraps her arms tight around him. I feel a twitch of something unfamiliar in my stomach. I envision grabbing her by her golden hair and ripping it out of her head.

"And you must be Katniss!" she says, turning to me and suddenly I'm wrapped in the same embrace Peeta was a moment ago. I see him smirk over her shoulder. My body stiffens. I don't like being touched. She doesn't seem to catch on.

"And you are pretty Primrose Everdeen!" Delly says, and when she goes to hug my sister I've had enough. I step between them. She looks confused for a moment, but it's fleeting and she flashes a smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Hiding out," Peeta smiles, but Delly nods at him knowingly. This isn't the first time he's come to her. Did he run away from his mother? Did he hide here? There's so much about Peeta's life before the Games I don't know. "Could we trouble you for three of the finest coffees in the district?" Peeta asks.

Delly blushes and heads out back, returning shortly with three paper cups filled with steaming black coffee. I've never actually seen a paper cup. I hold it in my hand. It's disposable. We can't afford disposable things in the Seam, it's too wasteful. Merchants are so naïve.

Prim smiles as Peeta swirls clouds of cream and sugar into the coffee. He slides one to her and her eyes open wide. He's been her brother for a day and he's already spoiling her.

"I've never had coffee," Prim says. Most Seamsfolk haven't. It's expensive.

"She's too young for that," I say, glaring at Peeta.

"I won't tell if you won't," he whispers to Prim, winking. She laughs and brings the coffee to her lips. She makes a funny face as she swallows and Peeta chuckles. "More sugar it is," he says, adding a couple spoonsful to her cup.

Delly goes back to readying the shop and we sit out front at a little table. I watch her from a distance, counting the cash drawer, setting her schoolbooks on the counter. Children are never just children in Panem.

"Mr. Mellark seemed really nice," Prim offers. Peeta looks at her.

"He is. He is really nice," Peeta answers. I don't know how this dynamic is supposed to work. Peeta looks at me.

"He is," I add for reassurance. When we head out Peeta leaves a large pile of bills stacked on the table. It's much more than coffee must normally cost, but I wonder how many free drinks Delly slipped him when she hid him here. He sees me eyeing the cash.

"Her family doesn't always have it easy. They don't charge as much as they could for this stuff. Just… a thank you, that's all," he says, but when he looks in my eyes he knows I understand. There's a debt between them unpaid, that he will never be able to repay.

We watch our sister run ahead of us in the street, catching up with some friends. She waves me off and we stop walking as her blonde head disappears over the hill to school.

Days slip by. I try to forgive my mom. Haymitch and Peeta are invited over for dinner more. Peeta looks at home in our kitchen and my mother isn't sure what to do. I catch them talking one night after bringing some jarred food back to the basement. I pause on the top step. Peeta's pouring the leftover stew into a glass container while my mother digs around for the lid. They look almost comfortable together.

"I'm sorry," my mom just blurts out. Peeta looks up at her, surprised. It's not about the lid. She's sorry she lied, that she nearly broke his family, that he was collateral damage in a secret she forced everyone to hide. As if words could ever make up for her actions.

"You don't have to be sorry. I think we all want the same thing, right?" he says without saying. He doesn't want Snow to hear.

We want Prim safe.

Peeta's voice is tender and sincere. My mother's face softens a little.

"Right," she nods.

That night I walk Peeta home and linger on his porch.

"I heard what you said to my mom," I say.

Peeta looks up but isn't quite following.

"That she doesn't have to be sorry," I elaborate.

"Oh," he says, though he's still not offering much of a reaction.

"She should be sorry, Peeta," I insist. "You don't have to just forgive her like that."

"I can't waste my time being angry with people I care about," Peeta answers. I look at him, confused. I've been kindling this anger in my stomach for weeks now – not just at my mom, but at everyone. I'm angry with the world.

"When did my mom join the list of people you care about?" I ask with more contempt than I mean.

"She's your mom," he answers, the rest of the explanation stuck in his throat. He looks at me. _She's your mom and I'm in love with you._ But those aren't words I can hear right now.

"Peeta," I start, but before I can do anything he leans down and presses his mouth to mine. He buries his name on my lips and swallows it. His lips are warm and rough and I feel my core radiating at the taste of him. I feel like I'm pulsing, like my entire body is throbbing. My fingers fumble with the hem of his shirt as I slip my hands underneath. I feel the muscles of his stomach clench under my fingertips.

"Katniss," he breathes into me and I can't stop. This wasn't the kind of kissing he started, but I deepen the kiss and he responds in kind. This must be what it's like to be drunk because my head is light and I'm dizzy for lack of air, but I don't want to breathe. His tongue dips into my mouth and there's something so intoxicating about the way he strokes my tongue with his. Breathing is a waste of time, a moment when my lips could taste his skin. I ball my fist in his shirt and pull him into me. I feel him hard in his pants pressed against my leg. Peeta's eyes shoot open and his cheeks flush red.

"Sorry!" he blurts out, pulling himself away from me. "I wasn't… um, I didn't mean to..."

I don't want him to pull away. I want to forget the world with him, even if it's just for a moment. Even it makes my heart race with panic. Even if I know I'm messing up – I want this.

His words drop off as I turn the doorknob to his house. His eyes open wide as he follows me inside. I close the door and he looks down at me and swallows hard. It's dark in his house and it makes me more comfortable than the light of his porch. I have no idea what I'm doing. I push Peeta back slightly until his back is against the closed door. I perch on my toes and kiss him again. He eagerly responds, fingers knotting into my hair as he gently nips my bottom lip.

He's always so focused on everyone else - forgiving my mom, opening his heart to my sister, worrying about Haymitch, watching after his brother, defending with his dad, taking the hurt so his mom doesn't have to feel it…

No one ever focuses on Peeta.

I let my hand drop and gently run it along his length through his pants. Peeta takes in a sharp breath and looks at me.

"You don't have to do that," he whispers but I repeat the motion. Peeta trembles slightly and his full weight drops back against the door. I don't know what I'm doing. I've never really done any of this before. I know the mechanics, I guess, but all of this is new and I worry I'll look foolish. When he looks at me with heavy-lidded eyes, though, I feel anything but foolish. I feel powerful.

"Is that good?" I whisper as I repeat the motion. I can feel him through his pants and I try to run my hand all the way down and back up, applying a little more pressure this time. Peeta nods quickly, unable to catch his breath.

"Katniss, I -" He tries to form words but he's already wound up tight and I'm just making him tighter. "Katniss, you have to stop. I'm-"

I shake my head no and he bites his lip as he drops his head back against the door. He hips are bucking into my hand now and he tries to stop himself. Watching him is maybe the most exhilarating thing I've done. I follow his lead and move my hand firmer and faster, stroking him until I feel his legs tighten underneath him. His eyes flash open and he meets my gaze.

"Katniss-"

His body stiffens and shakes. He tries to keep his eyes on me but he can't and he squeezes them shut as he drops his head into the door with a thud. He groans and my hands run over a wet spot on his pants. I realize he's soaked through them. I slow my hand and then drag it away gently. He trembles as I run over his tip one more time. "Mm," he hums before my hand slips away. He pants for a moment before he's able to catch his breath.

"Why did you do that?" he asks, eyes careful. I know what he wants - words I can't say.

"I just wanted you to feel nice," I say, my words sounding foolish. I stare at the ground stupidly.

"I just… I don't want you to feel like you owe me anything."

"That's not why," I answer. I can tell he wants to kiss me, but the moment is over and we are back to being careful with each other.

The next night I sneak into his room much later than normal. The thoughts in my head won't stay quiet. He looks up, surprised to see me in his room.

"I thought you weren't coming," he says with a smile, lifting the blanket. I drop down heavily into the bed. He rolls on his back and finds my hand under the sheets, squeezing it tight before he closes his eyes. I watch him for a moment, but he must feel me staring because he opens his eyes and catches the perplexed look on my face.

"What's wrong?" he asks softly.

"How do you…" The words fade away. I'm not sure I can finish. I'm not sure I want to.

"What?" he asks, a concerned look on his face. He rolls back to his side and looks at me.

"How do you forgive people so easily? How is it you don't hate your father?" I ask.

"Is that what you really want to know?" he asks. He sees through me in a way no one has before. No, that's not what I want to know.

"How do I stop hating my mom?" I ask quietly. Peeta takes the blanket and tugs it a little higher on my shoulders.

"Do you think your mom meant to hurt you?" he asks with an analytical. I stop. I don't know.

"I think she didn't care," I respond truthfully.

"Do you _really_ think that?" he asks. He's not being condescending or rude. He's asking honestly.

Do I really think that?

I remember my mother after my father died. It was a though a light shut off somewhere inside her. It was as though even being in her skin hurt. As though she didn't want to be there inside her body. I felt as if she'd died along with my father and we had a corpse to tend to. I tried to see my mother in that dead woman's eyes, but she wasn't there.

It wasn't that she didn't care. It was that she couldn't.

"No," I whisper. My eyes fill with tears and I bat them furiously. She hasn't earned any more tears from me. Peeta rests his hand on my cheek.

"How did your mom get better? What finally snapped her out of it? Was it just time?" he asks.

I know what made her better. It wasn't time or distance or me or even Prim.

"It was the tea," I answer. Peeta looks at me quizzically. "After I started hunting I spent a lot of time reading my father's plant book. My mother had scribbled little notes in the margins next to plants that also had medicinal purposes. She wrote that thyme cured sadness. So I looked everywhere in the woods but I couldn't find any. And then one day I saw some at Greasy Sae's stand in the Hob. I offered her my whole day's take for the plant. I brought it home and I started brewing tea out of it. I couldn't get her to drink it, but Prim did."

"And?"

"And she came out of it. It was a week or so, but she came out of it," I answer. "One day I came home from hunting and she was making a stew on the stove. She wasn't herself, not really. But she wasn't dead anymore."

I looked it up later, in one of her medicinal books. Thyme is full of lithium. Apparently in the Capitol they use lithium to treat people with mental illness.

I don't like to think of my mother as ill. It makes it harder to hate her.

Peeta looks at me with an understanding I haven't felt myself. He doesn't hate my mother.

"Okay," I concede.

"Okay what?" Peeta asks.

"Okay I don't hate my mother," I grumble, rolling on my side away from him. He curls his body into mine and finds my hand in the dark. "I still hate yours though," I say stubbornly.

"I'll allow it," he says with a smile I can't see but I know is there. He falls asleep happy soon after, that stupid grin never leaving his face.

A week goes by. I try to be nice. I land on indifferent. I guess it's better than outright hostility. She can tell I'm trying, Prim says.

So I do. I try.


	19. Chapter 19 - A Knock in the Night

The knock on the front door jolts us both from a dead sleep. I can barely make out Peeta's eyes in the pitch dark. Before I even realize he's reached for it he's snapped on his leg. He stands up from bed and walks across the room slowly. I look out the window. Light is just starting to penetrate the early morning blackness as rain hammers against the glass.

Another _thud thud thud_ on the front door. It's not the polite knock of a neighbor or friend. There is desperation to the pounding. Someone wants in.

When I look up Peeta is holding his hands in fists, his body on alert.

I leap out of bed behind him and drop to my knees, pulling my hunting bag out from under his bed. I find my blade and we creep down the hallway and stairs. I replay the last few weeks over and over in my mind. What did we do? Why is Snow coming for us now?

When we reach the first floor, though, all logical thought is shoved out of my mind. Attack. Survive.

Peeta heads to the front door and I hide my body in the doorframe to the kitchen. They'll expect Peeta to be alone. I might be able to kill them before the surprise wears off. Peeta looks over to me and I nod before he reaches for the doorknob. When Peeta opens the door my heart is slamming in my chest. It's as if we never left the Arena. I feel the handle of the knife pulling heat from my hand as I lift it in an offensive position. I stay perched on my bare feet in the hallway, ready for whatever comes through the door.

I'm wrong.

I'm not ready.

"Dad?" I hear Peeta's voice float in the air mingled with confusion and disbelief. I can barely hear over the rain pouring unforgivingly from the sky. "What's going on? What are you doing here?"

"I left," his father murmurs from the porch, the sound of rain almost pummeling the words, but they are there. He left. His wife. The bakery. His home. I wait but it's as if the two men have stopped time, save for the storm moving furiously around them.

Peeta hasn't invited his father in yet. He's in too much shock. I take a breath and join him at the door. I realize how this must look as I stare down at my bare legs. Peeta's wearing his sleeping shorts and nothing else.

"Katniss!" Abel Mellark says with a sort of happy surprise. He looks us over. "Oh!" he realizes.

"It's not what it looks like. She just sleeps over," Peeta explains. "It's just… sleep." His dad isn't mad though. He seems… happy. Happy that his son isn't alone.

The man looks smaller with his clothing drenched, his light mustache dripping when he smiles meekly or speaks. I can see his breath in the frigid night air. It's only then I realize he's not alone. Rye Mellark stands on the bottom step of the porch, the light barely catching his silhouette as the rain pounds behind him.

"Peeta, invite your dad in. It's pouring," I whisper before turning away to go get some clothes from upstairs. I place the hunting knife on the side table in the hall and I can feel eyes burrowing into me. Peeta sleeps with a killer. I pretend to ignore it.

When I come back downstairs I find them in the kitchen. A kettle of water boils noisily on the stove. I put an armful of Peeta's clothes on the counter between them. Rye is a little taller, but aside from that the three Mellarks are all about the same size. Rye strips his shirt gratefully and tugs one of Peeta's tee shirts over his head. Apparently the lack of modesty runs in the family. He drops his rain-soaked shirt on the floor and it lands with a wet thud.

"Come on, Rye," Peeta complains playfully as he grabs the shirt from the floor. Peeta's house is neat as a pin. It's one of the few things in his life he can control. "Go hang it in the bathroom."

Rye grabs some pants and shuffles off to the bathroom. It's as he passes us that I first catch his face in the light - blood dried in the corner of his mouth, the skin darkened over his jaw. He keeps his face from Peeta and we meet eyes for a moment. He shakes his head no.

"I should go," I say to Peeta. I'm barely comfortable around one Mellark, let alone three.

Peeta turns back to his dad, but not before he weaves his fingers with mine. I look at our clasped hands. Peeta doesn't say anything, he waits. After what feels like an eternity of silence, he finally repeats the only words that have been offered so far.

"You left?" he asks. Mr. Mellark offers a faint smile but his eyes are forlorn. "Dad, what happened?"

"She's been out of control, Peeta. Ever since the Games. Ever since…" Mr. Mellark refuses to say more.

We both know. Ever since Peeta went in front of the nation and confessed his love for an Everdeen girl. Since he told the whole country his father pointed me out and said he used to love my mother. That Peeta had loved me since I wore my hair in two braids instead of one. That it didn't matter how hard Mrs. Mellark pushed, how much hate she felt for me and my mom, she couldn't undo the love in their hearts. She couldn't make Abel love _her_ like he had loved my mother.

She lashed out. Mrs. Mellark wanted them to know what shame and humiliation they had brought her. The first time she had Peeta behind closed doors after the Games she beat him senseless. She couldn't even contain herself on the street when she saw us together. The violence inside the Mellark home - what had once been a terrible family secret - was now exposed because she was too angry to control herself. She sold him in marriage, she tried to hurt him in every way she could until she realized she couldn't hurt him anymore. He'd found a voice, a strength inside himself.

He's a victor now.

When she turned her hand to the next son, Mr. Mellark couldn't take it. He took the boy and he left.

Mr. Mellark won't say any of that. He knows Peeta will take the blame and Mr. Mellark wants all the blame for himself. So he doesn't say why. He just says what.

"She hit Rye," Mr. Mellark finally says. Peeta's eyes flash to the hallway leading to the bathroom door. It's as though the pit opening in his stomach envelopes the room. Everything feels cold. Mr. Mellark straightens his back. "So I took him and I left."

"Good," Peeta murmurs to himself, and then looks up at his dad. "Good," he says again, more firmly. His eyes drift back to the hallway. "Where's Bannock?" he asks, his voice quiet.

"He chose to stay," Mr. Mellark answers.

Peeta is processing. He's not sure what any of this means. Finally he takes the clothes from the counter and puts them in his dad's hands. "There's a spare bedroom, take a left at the top of the stairs. Get out of those clothes before you make yourself sick."

Mr. Mellark nods softly and treads up the stairs. The kettle has been screaming for at least a minute but Peeta doesn't notice. I move it to an empty burner and grab three mugs from the cabinet. I start making the tea when Peeta realizes what I'm doing.

"You don't have to do that, I got it," he says, but as he starts to take the tea box from my hands he drops it with a clang on the floor. We both drop to our knees and start collecting the contents spilled on the tile. I put everything back in its place and look up at Peeta. He looks utterly lost.

"I'm the reason she hit him," Peeta says quietly.

"No, no you're not," I answer.

"She chose me because I was Dad's favorite. I always knew that. She hurt me to hurt him," he says. "And then I took that away from her. I'm so stupid. I should have known she'd go after Rye."

I lift my hand and slide it over his cheek the way he does to me when I'm struggling my way back from a nightmare. He's living his. I lean forward and kiss him gently. I remember the promise I made to myself on the train home as I watched him sleep. The promise I made to him.

He's mine to protect. To keep safe.

He's completely still until I pull away. He stares at my face, trying to make sense of any of this. His forehead drops to mine.

"Thank you," he whispers. I stand and go back to making the tea. I leave the cups on the counter to steep and move to the living room to stoke the fire.

"So you and my brother, huh?" I hear a voice from behind me. I look over my shoulder and find Rye Mellark smirking at me in the firelight, wearing a familiar tee shirt and pajama pants that don't quite reach his ankles. "Frankly I'm not sure what you see in the runt," he adds. I'm about to tear into him when I realize he's putting on a show. He's terrified.

"I'll get you some ice for your jaw," I answer plainly.

The Mellarks settle in front of the fire and I slip out into the rain. When I get home my mother is sleeping on the couch. I stare at her for a moment before I sigh and walk over to her. She's had her failures, but I've never had to run from her.

"Come on, Mom. Up to bed," I say. She wakes with bleary eyes and looks around.

"You're drenched," she says with concern, too sleepy to remember we're not speaking.

"It's okay," I say, grabbing her hands and pulling her to her feet. It's when she's right in front of me that the reality of our bitter coexistence forces its way to the forefront of her mind. Before she can back away from me though, I wrap my arms around her and hug her hard. She hesitates for a moment and then squeezes me back. We stay that way until the wet of my clothes has reached her skin. We don't talk about it. Neither of us like to talk.

I walk her upstairs and we part at the top.

"Mom?"

"Hm?" she says, turning back to me.

"Abel Mellark is next door," I say back. She hesitates, unsure how to react. "Just thought you should know," I add before I close myself off in my room.

The next morning I stare at Peeta's door but I don't go over. I spend the next couple of days avoiding him. I walk to the Hob. I hunt with Gale. I perform mundane tasks around the house. I give Peeta space to reconnect with his father, to figure things out.

He's not alone anymore.

I don't sleep much. I watch them in the early morning – the light on in the kitchen, the smell of bread in the air, two silhouettes through the soft cotton curtain.

Peeta doesn't need me. I try to tell myself it's a good thing.

The Mellark men need to heal. They need to figure out how to be a family, just them.

Just them.

So I do what I think is right. I stay away.

It's only a few days before a particularly frigid morning finds the ground coated with snow. I look out the window and think about how clean and beautiful the world looks. How it's only temporary. How soon the pristine white powder will gray as the coal dust settles in. How it will get ruined like everything else eventually does.

I'm in the kitchen before the rest of my house wakes up. I try to bury the feeling of dread creeping into my stomach. I've been wishing today away and yet it came anyway, like a stubborn, unwelcome sunrise after a sleepless night. I fill two mugs with coffee before I cross the lawn to Haymitch's. He's sleeping at the table, so I sit down and wait. I finally grow impatient so I lean over and shake his shoulder hard. Haymitch doesn't react. I go to the cabinets and find not a single dish unsoiled. He pays Hazelle to housekeep, but she can only spare one day a week to come clean and Haymitch doesn't make an effort between her visits. I rinse out a relatively empty mug, fill it with cold water, and dump it unceremoniously over his head. He wakes with a roar, his knife slashing angrily at nothing.

"Up. Shower. It's Tour day."


	20. Chapter 20 - Gale

She leaves today. We spent yesterday in the woods not talking about it. I spend most of my time with Katniss not talking about it. Us. Her. Them. She doesn't know what she's doing. Neither do I.

The front door swings open. It used to make me startle, but Madge has become a regular part of my morning routine. She comes over early to make sure my mother wakes up to hot coffee and a clean kitchen. At first I thought taking on another person might break my family's fragile hold on survival, but Katniss has made sure that's not the case. I pretend not to notice when she leaves behind all the game in her bag because when I do it makes me feel like a failure. Katniss knows that. It's why she tries to hide it.

But things have been… easier. Things are easier with Madge around. My mother can focus on work. Madge hasn't been back to school since the dissolution. That's what they call it. A dissolution. So she keeps busy around the house. She's good with Posy. She cooks, she cleans. Madge even helps with Mom's washing so she's been able to pick up a side job cleaning the Abernathy house. Easier.

Madge pretends like she's interested in these domestic things, but really she just doesn't like to be alone in the Everdeen house. It doesn't feel like hers.

I watch her moving silently about our kitchen. Rinsing the coffee pot, wiping the counter. She's pretty. You'd have to be blind to deny it. Madge's hair practically shimmers when it catches the light just right. Her skin is pale. I guess the nice way to say it is fair, but she looks pale compared to other Seamsfolk. It makes her stick out like a sore thumb. She could use some sun.

"Maybe you should go in the woods with me," I say out loud.

"Good morning to you too," she responds. It's not an answer.

"I just mean with Katniss gone I could use a second set of hands."

She turns and watches me for a moment, holding the rag in her hand.

"Then take Rory. He begs you to all the time," she suggests.

"No," I state firmly. Her eyes flash in recognition. She's hit a sour subject. Rory and I have been fighting a lot lately. I refuse to take him to the woods. It's illegal. If I get caught, that's one thing, but I will not be responsible for my little brother's execution. Madge doesn't reply. She just turns back to her work. I don't know why I feel bad but I do. I shouldn't need to tiptoe in my own house, not for some Townie's sake. "I just mean Rory has schoolwork and stuff," I lie.

"Sure," she says. I can't tell if she's just acknowledging she heard me or if she's agreed to go hunting. Madge doesn't talk a lot. It's one of her better qualities.

"Tomorrow then?" I ask. My voice sounds a little too hopeful. I don't know where that comes from and clear my throat. She turns around and looks at me. These are the most words we've exchange since she moved in next door.

"I don't know how to hunt," Madge says plainly.

"Afraid to get your pretty Townie hands dirty?" I ask. I can't tell if I'm being mean or flirting with her. She scowls. She's more like Katniss than either of them realize.

"I just don't want to slow you down. I know it's important," she says, meeting my eye. She's direct. She's different than I thought she'd be.

"You won't slow me down," I say softly, like I'm encouraging a child. It's meant to be nice but her body stiffens. She doesn't want to be talked down to. She doesn't want pity.

She doesn't act like she's from Town.

She turns back to the sink.

"Okay," she says, facing away from me. She doesn't see the smile that stretches across my face.

It's still dark when Madge arrives the next morning. I'm already up packing my game bag, but it surprises me when I hear the door. I head downstairs and find working her in the kitchen.

"We don't leave for an hour," I say, perched on the last step.

"I know, I just wanted to get this done for your mother before we left," she replies, turning around to face me. She's wearing a pair of slacks and a dull brown shirt. She has a wool sweater that scoops around the neck and her collar bone shows just slightly. These are Katniss's clothes. Madge must have found them in the drawers next door. She'd never own anything so plain on her own. She looks… normal. She looks like someone I used to know.

"What?" she asks. I realize my jaw is hanging and snap it shut.

"You might want a jacket. It will be really cold the first few hours until the sun is higher in the sky. Maybe a scarf," I reply as I cross to the closet. I find a long scarf my mother knit years ago. "Here," I say as I step close. She sweeps her hair off her shoulders and I wrap it a few times round her neck. My knuckle just barely brushes over her collar bone and I feel myself twitch in my pants. I cough and step back. "I need to finish getting ready. I'll be down in a few minutes."

I head up the stairs and to the bedroom. Rory and Vick sleep in bunkbeds on the far wall. I waste a few minutes organizing my bag, willing my body back into submission. I feel like some twelve year old boy with no control over himself. I have no idea what that was. I'm not inexperienced when it comes to chicks. I've had plenty of girls from school behind the slag heap. But I've never been this worked up just from being next to someone before. I take a deep breath and head back downstairs.

"Let's go," I say, not waiting for Madge to catch up before I'm out the door.

I help Madge to her feet after she slides under the fence. She's tiny and slender like Katniss, but she's shaped differently. Where Katniss is straight and thin, Madge has the slightest curves at her waist and hips. I expect her to fuss over the dirt scraped across the front of her clothes, but she just wipes at it carelessly with her hands.

"Now what?" she asks. We go to the felled log and retrieve my bow. I don't bother giving one to Madge. Even if we spent hours working on it she'd not be useful anytime soon, and by then Katniss will be back. We head down to the snare line. I spy two rabbits and some other rodents hanging. I show Madge how to undo the knot and she collects the game and puts them in her bag. I'd expect her to be squeamish but she's not. Her fingers are quick to retie the knots with practically no instruction. She does the reverse of how I showed her to release them. She's incredibly smart.

"What?" she asks when she catches me staring. "Did I do that wrong?"

"No, it's fine," I reply.

We spend a couple hours walking around, collecting edible plants and digging for roots. We've had a couple snows but the ground doesn't stay frozen, not yet anyway.

"This is where the strawberries will be come summertime," I tell her. Her father paid handsomely for strawberries for Madge. I used to resent him for it, her too. That anyone could be spoiled with an entire carton of strawberries when there were children starving in the Seam was beyond me. Madge is completely still next to me. I don't look at her face but I can feel the pain welling behind her eyes. She misses her dad.

We're back to the Seam before dark. Madge goes home to clean up. She hasn't once gone to Victor's Village to shower. When she comes back to the house for dinner she smells like soap and woods. My limbs are exhausted from the hike and I sit lazily at the table. My mom expects that I'll be pretty worthless at home after a hunting day, yet Madge takes my mom's side and starts preparing dinner. She must be as sore as me, if not worse since she's not used to the hike. But she reaches for a large bowl and makes a salad from some greens I traded for in the Hob. I get up from the chair and start to set the table. My mom gives me a surprised look, then her eyes shoot back to Madge. Mom smiles slightly and I throw a napkin at her. I'm not trying to impress Madge. I'm just trying to help out.

After dinner my mom heads upstairs to put the kids to bed. Madge stands by the sink, washing dishes. I grab the dishcloth and start drying the plates.

"You don't have to do that," she says.

"Sure I do. I ate dinner too," I answer, putting the dry plate in the cabinet.

"Look, I've got it," she says, taking the rag from my hand. She looks up at me. "I need to earn my keep here. I don't have any money or anything to offer your family for looking after me. I need to make it worth your while to have me around," she insists.

"Madge, we're not going to kick you out on the streets," I say. She bites her lip and her cheeks flame. A blush looks flattering on her. "You are an honorary Hawthorne now, okay?" I say, lowering my head slightly, trying to meet her eye. I watch a mix of emotions wash over her face. She's grateful, yes, but there's something else there. She's sad. And she doesn't want to owe us anything. "You sure you weren't born in the Seam?" I tease. I manage to get a tiny smile out of her. "Go home. I can finish up here."

Madge finally looks up at me. Her eyes are so blue they remind me of the open sky stretching above the lake. It reminds me of the calmness I find the there. I feel her tiny, delicate fingers slip around my hand and squeeze it tight before letting go again.

"Thank you for taking me out today. It was the best day I've had in a long time," she says. I wasn't sure if she'd liked it or not. She hardly ever speaks. She listens though. She notices.

"Me too." The words slip from my mouth before I can stop them.

"Good night, Gale," Madge says quietly before gliding out the door.

It takes me almost an hour to finish the load in the sink.

 **A/N: I know that when I wrote Lillian's chapter I wrote it in 3rd person and now I've written Gale's in 1st. Sorry. I know it's inconsistent and stuff, but it's Fanfiction and it's supposed to be indulgent for me as a writer, and I personally just liked the tone better in 1st person. C'est la vie!**


	21. Chapter 21 - Threats

I'm not really sure what to expect from this Tour. Haymitch said he would give us more details on the train, but we're probably a hundred miles from District 12 by now and he's not talking. He's not even leaving his room. I eat my dinner quietly while Effie flourishes on about the upcoming events. I try to listen but I'm too distracted, replaying the events of this morning over in my head.

 _"This is getting to be a habit with you, sweetheart," Haymitch growls, unimpressed with the water I've just dumped over his sleeping head. He pulls off his filthy shirt, revealing an equally filthy shirt underneath, and rubs himself down with the dry part._

 _"I couldn't shake you awake," I grumble. I'm in no mood this morning. "If you wanted to be babied you should have asked Peeta."_

 _"Asked me what?" Just the sound of his voice makes my stomach twist uncomfortably. I can't tell if it's guilt or excitement. There's longing. I might as well admit there's some of that, too._

 _I watch as Peeta crosses to the table, the sunlight from the window picking up the glint of fresh snow in his blonde hair. He holds his hand out to Haymitch._

 _"Asked you to wake me without giving me pneumonia," says Haymitch, passing over his knife, earning a smile from Peeta. For a moment I feel jealous and then I bury it. I hate today._

 _"I brought him coffee," I add lamely, but Peeta just gives me a look. He douses Haymitch's knife in white liquor from a bottle on the floor. He wipes it clean on his shirt and slices the bread. I wonder if he made it or his dad. Or Rye. Probably not Rye. Peeta says Rye wouldn't work a day in his life if he didn't have to. I'm sure he's milking his injury for all its worth. Peeta hands the heel of the bread to Haymitch and looks up at me shyly._

 _"Would you like a piece?" Peeta asks politely._

 _"No, I ate at the Hob," I lie. "But thank you," I add quickly. My voice doesn't even sound like my own, it's so formal. Just a few days apart and I don't even know how to be around him._

 _"You're welcome," Peeta responds mechanically, as if I were a customer in the bakery and not the girl he nearly lost his life for. He looks at me and I realize there is a gaping hole between us._

 _"Brrr. You two have got a lot of warming up to do before showtime," Haymitch slurs._

 _He's right, of course. Peeta and I are awkward together. Polite. Stiff._

 _"I need to go check on my sister," I say before heading out the door. The snow is just barely on the ground, so light that I can see grass in the wake of my feet. When I open the front door I'm greeted by the warmth of a bustling fire. My mom must have got up this morning without Prim prodding her. Since the revelation about Prim she's remained mostly locked up in her room. But she took care of something today. I let out a sigh of relief, but it's short-lived._

 _"Katniss!" my mother greets me with a fake plastic smile. Something is not normal._

 _"What's going on?" I ask, but before she can answer I see a man standing in the hallway with a tailored suit and surgically perfected features. He's from the Capitol. I swallow. My prep team isn't supposed to arrive for hours._

 _"This way, Miss Everdeen," the man orders, taking my elbow. I have to resist the urge to rip it from his hand. I catch my mother's worried expression and try to smile reassuringly._

 _"It's probably just more instructions for the Tour," I offer as I'm lead to the study in the back of the house. I hardly ever go in there. The bookshelves are filled with Capitol-approved books and a few medical texts my mother has managed to keep with her. I have no use for this room except as a place to hide._

 _"Go on in," the man commands. I twist the polished brass doorknob, unprepared for what's inside. A man sits at the desk, expecting me._

"Katniss dear?" I hear Effie tweet and I realize this is at least the third time she's said my name.

"Huh?" I reply.

"Yes or no?" Effie asks, as if I have any context to that. I look at Peeta and he imperceptibly shakes his head.

"No," I say. Effie pouts and gets up from the table.

"Well then don't complain to me again. I try to help!" she says shrilly. Effie flitters out of the room and I look at Peeta.

"She wanted to know if you wanted the prep team to shave off your eyebrows," Peeta says.

"What? Why would I want that?" I spit out.

"Apparently you complained about all the eyebrow tweezing at the house? Effie thought it would be easier to shave them off and paint them on instead. I guess it's common in the Capitol," he explains, clearly entertained.

I try to picture myself with no eyebrows. I need to readjust to being around Capitolites and their crazy ideas.

"She said it will be at least a day before we arrive," Peeta adds.

District 11. A feeling of dread builds up under my skin with an ache I cannot soothe. The Victory Tour feels like a special kind of torture. It's just another tool the Capitol uses to oppress its people, to never let the pain of the Hunger Games slip from their minds. But to a victor, to a survivor, it forces them to relive their Games over and over. To meet the families of those they lost and those they killed. To be paraded around like some kind of Capitol pawn – a transplant that doesn't fit in anywhere anymore.

Peeta watches my face and reaches his hand out for mine.

District 11 is where Rue is from.

 _Was_.

Where Rue _was_ from.

"I just want to go to bed," I say and he nods as I stand up. The train is familiar turf now. Our rooms aren't far apart. Peeta walks me to my door and stands in the hall with me.

"I can do the speech tomorrow if you want," he offers. I've stared at the notecards a few times but I'm not retaining anything. The words are scripted and ill-rehearsed. Anyone would know they aren't mine.

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea," I admit. We need to sell the narrative. We need to keep Prim safe. There are too many thoughts in my mind for me to keep straight. Too many conflicting feelings of mutiny and obedience, defeat and hope, quiet and fury. I'm not selling the lie, not well anyway.

"Do you, um… Do you want to come to my room?" he asks, eyebrow perched.

"What?" I ask, not able to make out the words through the thoughts in my head. It's as though the normal world is moving on without me as I relive the past in my head. I glimpse up at Peeta's face, but before I can respond the train lurches gently and starts to decelerate. We look at each other, confused. We've been traveling maybe 8 hours. I hear an uneven clodding of feet and Haymitch appears at the end of the hall.

"Service stop," he announces and turns without a word. _Follow me._

Haymitch heaves the train door open with a groan and jumps from the train to the ground. His knees complain and he's slow to straighten his back. I leap from the train down beside him and he starts moving down the track. I look over my shoulder and see Peeta talking down a guard. Something about Haymitch being drunk or travel-sick, but either way he's not following us. The air is unexpectedly warm and almost humid. I'm surprised that the trees are still flush with green leaves. The foliage abandoned the trees in District 12 long ago.

Haymitch turns around, his face straight.

"Tell me," he says. Haymitch isn't stupid.

"Snow was in my house," I stammer.

 _He sits at the desk as if it were his own. It is. Everything in the districts, everything in Panem belongs to President Snow. People. Things. It's all the same to him. What is he doing here? If he made the time to come all the way down here it can only mean one thing – I'm in serious trouble. I try to remember to breathe but when I think about his proximity to my sister, I nearly choke._

 _"I think it will make this whole situation a lot simpler if we agree not to lie to each other," Snow says precisely. "What do you think?"_

 _"Yes, I think that would save time," I answer, surprised my voice is as calm as it is. I refuse to let the fear show on my face. I refuse to give him the satisfaction, even though it's pumping through my veins and filling every inch of my body. Snow pricks an eyebrow. I wonder how many people address him directly. I wonder what kind of deference he expects. Should I call him Sir?_

 _I've never been a polite person. He said not to lie. Why start now?_

 _"My advisors were concerned you might be difficult. You're not planning on being difficult, are you Miss Everdeen?" he poises._

 _"I'm not planning anything, I didn't know you were coming," I remark back. I'm being smart and I immediately regret it, but the smirk on his serpentine lips tells me he's entertained._

 _"I told them you wouldn't be difficult. Anyone who cares so much about preserving her own life, the life of her sister, the life of her…" He meets my eyes before placing the next word carefully, "Cousin. Someone like that wouldn't be difficult. She knows what is important. Who is not."_

 _It's a poorly veiled threat. He means it to be. My sister. Gale. They are not important. They are disposable if I step out of line._

 _"Sit," he orders. I take one of the straight-backed chairs in front of the desk. It's large, my toes barely graze the ground. If he's trying to make me feel inferior, it's working._

 _"I have a problem, Miss Everdeen. I've had a problem ever since you pulled out those poisonous berries in the Arena," he says. I'm shocked at his candor. We said we weren't lying, but I didn't expect him to be so blunt. "If Seneca Crane had any brains at all, he'd have blown you to bits right there. But he had a tragic…" He pauses again for emphasis. "Sentimental streak. It did not serve him well."_

 _I don't need more than that. Seneca Crane is dead._

 _Each word from Snow's mouth is punctuated by the scent of blood. I wonder if he swirls it around in his mouth like one of those wine connoisseurs we met in the Capitol. If he drinks it like milk. The rose from his lapel is potent but does nothing to mask the smell. I feel my stomach lurch and force myself swallow._

 _"After that, there was nothing to do but let you play out your little scenario. We discussed killing you in the Capitol, telling the people that the poison had indeed made its way into your system, but at that point all of Panem was on pins and needles rooting for the star-crossed lovers. That is your fault, Miss Everdeen. Something you will make up to me."_

 _I nod._

 _"You did your part quite well following the Games – the lovesick schoolgirl. The people in the Capitol ate it up, foolish as they are. But out in the districts, not everyone fell for your act. In the districts, some see your little stunt as an act of defiance. A willfulness against the Capitol. And if a tiny little girl can stand up to the Capitol, what's to prevent an uprising?"_

 _"There have been uprisings?" I ask evenly. The rebellious brew in my blood begins to boil, but it is quickly sated by the icy influence of his threat. Prim. Gale._

 _"No, and you will see to it that there aren't._ That _is the deal, Miss Everdeen. You quash this feeling of insurrection among the people. You will show the districts your act was nothing more than that of a foolish child who had fallen in love. That you are nothing but a weak girl who couldn't bear to live without her precious Peeta." The Ps explode percussively from his mouth on his last two words. Snow takes a flawless white handkerchief from his pocket and dabs the corners of his puffy lips._

 _I don't know what to do._

 _"If there is an uprising, I will kill every last rebel and hang them in the streets to warn the others. I will turn the next Games into an exercise in cruelty. You don't want that, do you, Miss Everdeen? Children crying and starving and dying all because you were too foolish to let the baker's son die?" Snow stares at me._

 _I want to scream. I want to throw something. Instead I stay quiet. Instead I let my worry for Prim guide my actions._

 _"You did well following the Games, but since your return to District 12 you have been less than adequate," Snow says squarely. I don't have to ask. The engagement. "Then you sent your clueless escort to try and make me fix it for you."_

 _"I didn't –" I stammer, but he's not interested._

 _"I don't make exceptions, Miss Everdeen. The rules are there for a reason. Whatever problems people have with the Capitol, the order we provide is instrumental to the survival of our nation. If I let up my grip on the districts, even for a short time, believe me when I tell you the entire system would collapse. I am not here to fix your mistakes. You are."_

 _He stands from the desk with intention. I get the feeling this man does nothing without precise intention. That's when it hits me._

 _Snow needs me._

 _He starts to step around the desk when my tongue betrays me._

 _"It must be a fragile system, if a handful of berries can bring it down."_

 _The president stops moving. It's the first moment since his arrival that his is displeased. Before I can say another word a hologram appears over the desk. Me. Gale. A kiss. His beady eyes drop to mine. His threats are not veiled anymore._

 _"I didn't mean to start any trouble," I tell him quickly. The frame freezes, Gale's hands clasped in my hair._

 _"I believe you. It doesn't matter. Your stylist turned out to be prophetic in his wardrobe choice. Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire. The girl who provided a spark that, if left unattended, may grow to an inferno that destroys Panem." He clicks his fingers and Gale disappears._

 _"Why don't you just kill me now?" I blurt out. Kill me and none of them matter anymore. No one cares about Prim or Gale, not if I'm dead. It's almost like I'm begging him to take my life. A smile creeps across Snow's lips. Power. He has power over me. And he loves it._

 _"Publicly? That would only add fuel to the flames," he says. "Him?" Snow brings the image back. I see my best friend in the president's glare. "Him I can kill off if we don't come to a happy conclusion. You aren't doing him any favors disappearing with him into the woods each Sunday."_

 _"It's not like how it looks. Please don't hurt Gale," I whisper. "He's just my friend. He's been my friend for years. There is nothing between us. Besides, everyone thinks we are cousins now."_

 _"I'm only interested how it affects your mood with Mr. Mellark," Snow snarls._

 _"It will be the same on the Tour. I'll be in love with him just as I was," I blather._

 _"Just as you are," Snow repeats._

 _"Just as I am," I confirm._

 _"Fix it," he says firmly._

 _"I will. I'll fix it. I promise."_

Haymitch stares at me. A soft wind whips across the grass. The sounds of the nocturnal fill the night air – katydids chirping, the low hoot of an owl. The world seems peaceful.

It's anything but.

"Shit."


	22. Chapter 22 - Stay with Me

"This Tour is an opportunity," Haymitch says. "Tomorrow, not a word about Rue that isn't on the cards. No tribute speech, no making the Capitol out like the murderer of small, adorable children. You are grateful to be a part of the Hunger Games. Rue was too. Excited, even. Peeta and you are very happy and in love, all thanks to the Capitol and the president's wonderful generosity. Got it?"

The words are hard to stomach.

I close my eyes. I picture Prim. Gale. My mother. Posy. Every person that could be used as collateral damage in my punishment.

"Okay," I say, turning back to the train, leaving Haymitch on the tracks. I'm angry. I'm angry at everything. When I slip past Peeta he and the guard are now laughing together. Peeta is disarming to just about anyone. He sees me heading down the hall and claps the guard on the shoulder before chasing after me.

"Making friends?" I ask, a little too mean. I don't care though. I'm angry at the world and Peeta is the closest target. I can feel myself churning with resentment. He exudes charm like sweat and I can barely force a smile that isn't awkward. I don't want to do this. I don't want to placate the districts. I want them to fight back. _I_ want to fight back. Rue deserved more than to be written off by some Capitol speech like she wasn't significant. Like her life didn't matter. I'm fuming. We reach my door and Peeta lingers outside, studying my face. I'm sick of being studied, of being watched.

"I'm going to bed," I announce, turning the handle of my compartment door. When I open it the cool air of the room rushes into the hallway. I realize my body is burning hot with blood. Peeta stands at my door, not moving an inch toward me or away. He's giving me a choice. I do the only thing that will protect him from whatever stupid angry vicious thing I'm about to say next.

I close the door between us.

I turn to my room, leaning my back against the door. I find the space exactly the same as when we went to the Games. The headboard of my bed meets the right wall, the blankets pristinely tucked and folded as though the bed were made by a machine. The nightstand holds a lamp with prisms of glass dangling from the shade. When I turn on the light the room fills with tiny rainbows. I think how Prim would love it.

 _Keep Prim safe._ I repeat it to myself over and over. That is my choice. _Gale. Prim._

The bathroom is to the left. I open it and on the bathroom counter are dozens of tiny glass bottles with ointments and lotions and shampoos and soaks. The tile is white, the walls are white, the toilet is white. The only thing dirty in this room is me. I pick up one of the tiny bottles and roll it in my hand. I read the label – it's some petunia-scented potion to make your skin shimmer. I hurl it on the ground and the glass shatters in a million pieces on the floor. The scent is immediate and nauseating but I don't care. It feels good. I grab another – mint shampoo. I throw it hard against the white tile floor and it leaves a slimy, gooped mess in the middle of the pile of glass. The combination of petunia and mint is not pleasant at all, but I repeat the action until all the bottles are broken and the floor is riddled with shards of pointed, angry glass. Finally, something else is broken along with me. I walk out and feel the glass crunch under my shoes.

I take them off and don't bother undressing. I lie on my bed and wait for the night to end but it refuses, like a stubborn child that won't go to sleep.

I want to say what I think. I don't want to lie anymore. The system is fragile, Snow admitted as much. Maybe I can be the spark. But when I think of Prim in the vengeful scope of the president, my resolve wanes. I picture her name in Effie's slender fingers, called out over the crowd. _Primrose Everdeen!_ It echoes in my skull. There's only one way to keep her out of the Arena. Keep my mouth shut. Turn my mind off. Obey.

The anger transforms into frustration. Frustration to helplessness. Helplessness to sorrow.

Sleeping isn't working. I decide to walk. I don't bother with my shoes, I just open my compartment door. I don't get very far. On the floor of the hallway, back pressed against the wall, Peeta is asleep outside my door. Not pushing. Just… here.

"Hey," I say. Peeta startles and looks up at me, rubbing his eyes. I haven't really looked at him since Snow shook my world. Even the kiss outside our houses – the first kiss Panem had seen us share – I felt like I was a million miles away. When the red light of the cameras shut off, Peeta's face shifted to mine, concerned.

 _"Nice acting," Peeta says reassuringly. He knows I'm nervous. He knows I'm no good at this stuff._

 _"You too," I respond automatically. I'm lost somewhere in Snow's words._

 _"I almost thought that kiss was real," Peeta says, but I refuse to meet his eyes. We both know it wasn't._

I look at him now. His eyes are tired – red with strain and the skin underneath them dark and heavy. He hasn't slept in days. He can't sleep without me either.

"Get in here," I say, holding the door open.

Peeta pulls himself up slowly from the floor and limps the first couple steps into my room. His leg is sore. Guilt flushes my face. His blurry eyes look over and spy the mess in my bathroom.

"Katniss, are you okay? What happened?" he asks with a worried expression.

"Nothing," I respond, blocking his view with my body. "I took it out on the shampoo."

He stands still, letting me take the lead.

"I missed you," I blurt out. Peeta gives me a half smile.

"I missed you too," he says.

"I just… I thought you needed space. Time to figure stuff out with your dad," I ramble.

Peeta laughs. "I thought you wanted space," he responds. "You left so quickly, I thought you… I don't know."

Did I want space? I don't know. I stare at my hands.

"Katniss, if there is ever a time where you are wondering if I need space from you, the answer is no. I always want you around. Always."

There's space between us now. There's still space between us. I step forward and wrap my arms around his stomach. I squeeze him so tight I'm not sure he can still breathe, but I don't stop. I feel his head drop, his mouth at my cheek.

"Katniss, what's wrong?" he whispers. There's nothing I can say safely in this room, so I just shake my head.

"I'm so tired," is all I can admit.

"Me too," Peeta replies. I finally loosen my grip on him and I turn to close the bathroom door. Peeta sits on my bed, not bothering to change. He removes his leg and sighs in relief when the whir of air releases his skin. He drops to his back, but when I don't join him he sits up, following me with his eyes as I walk across the room. I remember the first night he stayed here.

 _I can't stop staring at his leg. Peeta catches me and my eyes flit away. Everyone else went to bed a long time ago, but we're still sitting at the dining table as if some final course has yet to be served. Peeta's cheeks burn red._

 _"Does it hurt?" I ask meekly. This is my fault. He's hurt because of me. Because he tried to save me._

 _"No, well… sort of? It's hard to explain," he starts. We've only left the Capitol a few hours ago. If things are supposed to feel normal again they certainly do not. "My old leg hurts," Peeta says. I don't understand what he means. Clearly he reads the confusion on my face. "The leg they took… it hurts all the time. But it's gone, so it can't hurt, but it does."_

 _"I'm sorry," is all I can offer. I can't fix the hurt of a phantom limb that's not even there._

 _"We should go to bed," Peeta says. I nod in agreement. I haven't slept since we left the Arena, and that was nearly three days ago. We walk down the hall together silently, our bodies carefully apart. Peeta walks me to my door first, ever the gentleman._

 _"Good night, Katniss," he offers, but I don't make any effort to move. He looks tired. He looks how I feel._

 _"Stay with me?" I ask. Peeta's gaze meets mine and I find that steadiness that calms the storms in my mind._

 _"Always," he answers._

"What are you doing?" Peeta asks, sitting in bed.

"Opening the window," I answer as I shove the small pane of glass ajar. Warm air filters into the room and Peeta smiles in the dim light.

"Come to bed," he says softly. I drop down beside him. I feel the most okay I've felt in days.

I wonder if he can hear the thoughts of anarchy churning in my skull. I know he feels it too. We never talk about it, but in the dark of his room I feel the same fiery anger whenever our conversation strays to the next Reaping or word that another family put a child's name in for tesserae. It's been worse since he found out about Prim. He doesn't want to be complacent anymore. He has someone, something, to fight for.

I want to tell him about Snow, about the threats, about how important it is that we sell the story. I can't do that here.

 _Fix it._

Snow's words hammer in my head.

Peeta reaches out and grabs my hand. He lays the other on my face, slowly stroking my cheekbone with his thumb. I bury my face in his neck. His skin is warm and I feel his hand reach my hair.

"Sh," he whispers soothingly, trying to calm the thoughts swirling in my mind. I wrap myself around him.

He is mine to keep safe.

"I really missed you," I say on a breath, my eyes falling closed.

I finally sleep.


	23. Chapter 23 - Secrets

The gunshot rings in my ears. I've never been so close to a gun being fired. It's like a tiny explosion, like it has all the power of the one that deafened me in the Arena condensed into one tiny bullet. It feels like the world has stopped moving as the old man's frail body crumples and sinks to the ground. Blood leaks out slowly, surrounding his head like some gruesome halo. A wall of white Peacekeeper uniforms blocks him from our view. One guard shoves me backward. Peeta steps forward and shoves him back.

"Hands off, man!" Peeta protests. I've never seen anyone mouth off to a Peacekeeper, let alone push him.

The door slams shut in front of us.

"What was that? What's going on out there?" Effie flutters about, her heels clicking on the tile of the Justice Building floor as she scurries toward us. "We were just listening to end of Katniss's beautiful speech when the cameras cut out!"

"Nothing. It was a car backfiring, that's all," Peeta says, but we hear another pop pop pop from outside and everything in my body seizes up. Who else are they killing out there?

This is my fault.

I didn't follow the script.

I meant to. I meant to just shut up and say the words I was supposed to say. But then I saw Rue's little sister and Thresh's grandmother and I knew it was not enough. Nothing would ever be enough. So I said goodbye to her. I said thank you to the people of District 11. And now that man is dead.

Four more pops. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Peeta's arm wraps itself around my waist and shifts his body toward the sounds, building another barrier between me and gunshots.

"Both of you, with me," Haymitch orders before he takes off down a long hallway. We follow him up the stairs of the neglected Justice Building, each room filled with a fine layer of dust that they tried to mask with a vase of flowers or a pretty table cloth. The sounds of chaos in the square below grow more distant and muffled. Haymitch yanks the microphones from our chests, shoves them under the cushions of a couch, and waves for us to follow him as he transcends a set of narrow wooden stairs. At the top is a trap door that drops open with a protesting squeal from the metal hinges. No one has been here in years. We climb the short ladder and find ourselves in the dome of the Justice Building.

"What happened out there?" he asks pointedly. Peeta recounts the story to Haymitch. I'm too shocked to say add anything. I can't breathe. My lungs just burn with dust and hot air and guilt.

"Are you two stupid?" Haymitch responds, exacerbated. We stare at him blankly. He groans at our silence.

"Nothing we did out there undermined the love story," I manage, but he gives me a fierce look and I shut up.

"It's not just the love story, kids. It's the whole thing. There is unrest throughout Panem and for the first time since the Dark Days, the Capitol is on defense. Snow as much as told you that, sweetheart. Are you trying to get your family killed?"

"He what?" Peeta stammers, eyes on me.

"Snow showed up at my house. He told me… He told me the districts didn't believe us. That they took the berries to mean an act of defiance. That they are looking to us to lead them into some kind of uprising or something," I ramble.

"Snow was at your house? There have been uprisings? Why didn't you tell me this?" Peeta blurts out, tugging at his hair.

"I didn't have time!" The words rush out of my mouth. "I was supposed to fix things on the Tour. Make everyone who doubted us believe that I acted out of love," I say. I replay the events in my head. My stupid speech. Peeta offering a month of our winnings to Rue and Thresh's families.

"You asked me, Katniss, point blank – why did he keep you alive at all?" Haymitch says. "Why not just kill you?"

I remember. I don't know why I am alive. Snow's answer seemed like an excuse. But Haymitch reaffirms what I've suspected all along.

"He needs you," Haymitch says, his voice low and even. "He needs you to calm the people. They will listen to you."

"All I did today was get people killed," I exclaim.

"I said stick to the cards!" Haymitch yells. "I am trying to keep you alive, sweetheart. Why do you have to make it so damn difficult?"

"Then I made it worse too," Peeta says, but he's wrong. Peeta held my hand. He played the young lover. Even his offering was to thank Rue and Thresh for saving _me_. I'm the one that messed this up. Nothing I said was about Peeta.

"No," I start, reaching for him, but he pulls away from me.

"Yes, Katniss. Yes I did! This has to stop. Right now. This game you two play, where you tell each other secrets and you keep them from me like I'm too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them!" Peeta insists.

"It's not like that. I just told Haymitch last night. You got stuck with the guard," I try to make excuses but I know he's right. I could have written it down and burned it after. I could have whispered it in his ear under the car full of people eating dinner. I didn't tell him and now he's got blood on his hands, too.

"It's exactly like that!" he yells at me. "My family will be just as dead as yours if we don't pull this off. What exactly did he say to you?" Peeta asks.

I try to breathe.

"He said they didn't believe me. That the people in the districts didn't believe me and that I was the spark that would lead them to rebellion if left unchecked. He said I had to fix it. He said Seneca Crane should have blown me to bits. He said…" I swallow. "He has a video of me and Gale kissing. He told me in no uncertain terms that he'd kill Gale if I stepped out of line. He threatened to kill Prim."

Peeta tries to process. Snow threatened his sister. He threatened Prim. We'd known this was coming. There's another emotion playing out on his face, but I can't name it.

"You're always so reliable, kid. You know instinctually what to do when the cameras are on," Haymitch says, putting a hand on shoulder. Peeta shirks it off.

"Well I think you overestimated me," Peeta seethes. "Because I really screwed up today. What do you think is going to happen to Rue and Thresh's family? Do you think they'll get the money I promised them? Do you think I gave them a bright future? Because I think they'll be lucky if they survive the day!"

I reach for his hand but he withdraws.

"It's just like it was in Twelve. You two knew about Snow's threats to Haymitch for weeks before you told me. Even in the Arena, it's like you two were communicating somehow," Peeta says.

"Look boy–" Haymitch begins.

"Don't bother," Peeta says. "Look, I know you had to choose one of us. And I wanted it to be her. But this is different. People are dying and more will follow because I didn't know what I was walking into today."

"From now on, you'll be fully informed," Haymitch states, though it's not Haymitch that has been keeping things from him.

"I've heard that before," Peeta says, eyes on me.

"Peeta," I start. His blue eyes are pale. He feels sick with guilt. With worry. A threat against Prim isn't just a threat against me, not anymore. He promised she came first. She burrowed a place in his heart and it would break him just as much as it would break me to lose her now.

"We should get back before people start looking for us," Peeta says, not letting me say anything more. He leads the way out of the attic as Haymitch and I follow. On the ground floor he grabs my hand tight in his. It's not affectionate, though. It's protective. Effie sees us and comes running as best she can in her tight skirt. Her spike heels sound like a bird's beak pecking a tree against the unpolished marble floor.

"There you are!" she harps, adjusting this and that on our clothes. I see Portia approach Peeta from the corner of my eye. She's young, much younger than Cinna. Barely older than Reaping age, not that Portia's name ever found a home in a Reaping bowl. You can't tell behind her pointed nails and jagged makeup, but she's barely more than a girl.

"Are you okay?" I hear her ask under her breath. Peeta nods. Portia doesn't bother looking at me. We're friendly, I guess, but she's worried about Peeta.

She's the only one who just worries about Peeta.

"Dinner's been cancelled due to the weather. We are to head back to the train at once!" Effie announces. I look out the window at the cloudless blue sky.

We walk back to the train with an armed escort. Cinna tries to catch my eye but I leave it trained on the ground. I'm too angry with myself to look at him. Too ashamed.

"I'm proud of you," he whispers to me. I look up at him, surprised.

"I'm an idiot," I respond.

"I thought you were brilliant," Cinna says back, winking playfully, a flash of gold peeking out from behind his eyelashes.

I don't know how to digest that.

Peeta drops my hand the moment we reach the train. Onboard, the staff is flustered trying to prepare for the unexpected meal. Haymitch tells them not to bother and the six of us go to the kitchen and make sandwiches, quite to the dismay of the head chef. Haymitch excuses the staff and we all stand silently around a metal table chewing bread and sliced chicken. Haymitch and Effie. Cinna and Portia. Peeta and me. Effie doesn't know how to be quiet and she keeps shooting looks between each of us, waiting for her cue to do or say something. Haymitch takes a bottle of liquor from one of the delivery carts parked in the corner and leaves the room without a word. Finally we all depart, each finding our own way to our rooms.

Peeta and I turn down the corridor to our wing of the train.

He stops outside his room and I find myself tripping over my feet. He's not coming with me. Peeta stares at me, his posture guarded.

"Was it before or after?" Peeta asks. I'm not sure I follow. "The kiss, Katniss. Was it before or after our Games?"

"After," I barely breathe out. "It didn't mean anything," I manage.

"If it didn't mean anything then why did you keep it a secret?" Peeta responds. I don't have an answer to that. "You didn't tell me. Again."

Before I can say anything, Peeta opens the door to his room and closes it behind him. I stand alone in the hallway staring at the metal door, the only thing keeping me company are the secrets I keep from the one person I should trust with them.

Days pass. Weeks. The following districts we act ecstatic and in love. Peeta is distant. He reads the cards, he kisses me when the cameras are on and ignores me when the cameras are off. He plays his part perfectly, so much so that I'm almost convinced, but behind closed doors we've never felt further apart.

We're somewhere in the wilderness between Districts 6 and 5 when I hammer my fist on his door. It takes a minute for Peeta to answer. It's late. I assume he has his leg off and needs a minute before he can walk. But it's not Peeta who answers the door.

"Portia," I say, the surprise evident in tone.

I hear rustling behind her and Peeta calls out playfully, "Give them a hard time for being late!" He comes to door with a smile on his face but when he sees me it drops from his lips. "Oh."

Portia looks at Peeta. "Do you want me to stay?" she asks Peeta, as if I'm some threat. As if I might hurt him.

I guess it's not that far from the truth.

"No," Peeta says. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

Portia steps from the door and gives me a look. It's not mean or catty. It's disappointment. She's disappointed in me.

"Hey," I manage to say.

"Hey," he says back, his body leaning against the door frame. I'm not welcome inside.

"I cheated on my first math test," I say. Peeta looks at me, confused. "I couldn't figure out how to add sevens. I don't know why but that number was really hard for me. So I wrote all the addition steps with sevens on a piece of paper and I stuck it up my sleeve. I sat in the back so no one noticed."

"Why are you telling me this?" Peeta asks.

"I once stole a spool of thread from Marjorie Cook's mom in the Hob. Prim was crying because she ripped her dress. It was my dress, it was just too big for her but we didn't have any money for clothes. So I stole some thread and fixed it. I put it back the next day, but I used at least a foot of string."

"Okay?" he says, a tiny smirk on his lips.

"I suck at cooking," I say.

"I already knew that," he answers.

"I know but… it's worse than you realize. I always use too much salt and Prim makes this scrunching face when she eats anything I cook."

"I just have trained myself not to do that," Peeta replies.

"I once punched a girl in school for calling Prim a mutt. Not like a Muttation, but like… a half breed? I guess that wasn't really true, though…" I trail off. I'm the only half-Townie/half-Seam person in the District. If anyone's a mutt, I am. "I'm afraid I'll die alone. I get jealous of people and I don't admit it. I value honesty but I don't tell people anything. I once got lost in the woods but refused to admit it and it took me almost the whole day to find my way home. I don't like mint jelly."

"You said you did like mint jelly!" Peeta protests, a flash of guilt on his face.

"I lied. I lie sometimes. I lose things. My father wrote me a letter my first day of school. It was really sweet and I have no idea where it is. I lost it somewhere because I was stupid and young and didn't realize you can lose people just like you lose things." These are all my secrets. It's everything I don't tell anyone, not even Prim. "Sometimes I wish my mother died instead of my dad," I say in a hushed voice. I've never admitted that out loud.

Peeta watches me intently. He wants to reach out, but he's holding back.

"I didn't kiss Gale. He kissed me and I ran off."

Peeta digests the words.

"I… You make me feel something, Peeta," I say. He tries to look at me but I stare at the door frame. Tears sting my eyes and I bat them away. "I don't know. I just…" I sigh. No more secrets. "I don't like when you aren't around. And I'm sorry for messing up. It won't happen again. But… please don't be mad at me anymore."

It's silent for what is probably just a minute but feels like an eternity. Peeta clears his throat and straightens his back.

"Was that the only time?" he asks quietly. He's not sure he wants to know.

"Yes. It was the only time," I answer. "And I hit him," I add for good measure. Peeta smirks.

"Is that why you two stopped talking?" he asks.

"Yes," I answer.

"But you're friends again?"

"Yes, we're friends. But that's it," I say. A beat passes and then I say, "I also fantasize about killing your mother."

"Seriously?" Peeta laughs.

"No more secrets. Oh and your dad makes better sugar cookies than you do," I say. Peeta feigns that he's offended. "I'm telling you everything now. You might regret it."

"Okay, okay. I get it," Peeta laughs lightly.

"I'm not a huge fan of Bannock either. He's kind of a jerk," I add, but I see Peeta's prep team heading toward his room.

"You should go. Portia's got me tied up all night on some outfit idea she has for District 4's parade," Peeta says.

"Okay," I say, stepping back from his door and turning to go.

"Katniss?"

I pause, looking back over my shoulder.

"Thanks," Peeta says before slipping into his room and closing the door.


	24. Chapter 24 - A Quiet Rebellion

When I arrive at breakfast the next morning, only Effie and Haymitch are in the dining car.

"Where is everyone?" I ask, grabbing a muffin from the basket and dissecting it on my napkin.

"Crumbs, Katniss! Is it really that difficult to use a plate?" Effie huffs, sliding a dish across the table. I groan. Mornings aren't easy for me. I haven't slept well in weeks. I'm basically not sleeping at all. Being on this Tour, seeing the families and friends of those I lost or killed, watching a nation looking to me for leadership and seeing nothing but cowardice... if I close my eyes I'm haunted by victims and survivors and violence… and I scream. I scream in my sleep. So I don't. I don't close my eyes. Instead I drift off at the dinner table. I wander around the train. I spend hours in the last car, far away from sleeping quarters where anyone might hear me. I doze and jolt awake.

I try to focus on my muffin. The blueberry juice staining my fingers.

I hear a racket down the hall. Peeta laughing. He and Portia enter the dining car, still giggling from some conversation none of us were privy to.

"Where's Cinna?" I ask. Portia looks at me as she pours a flute with juice.

"Oh he's sleeping. He was up designing most of the night. We have an idea for Four's parade but he has to scrap everything he's done so far. I saw his sketches around two, they were stunning," she beams. I'm listening, but out of the corner of my eye I watch as Peeta serves himself a spoonful of fruit before doing the same with Portia's plate. I get an uncomfortable, twisting feeling in my stomach. "Speaking of which, I should be ready for that second fitting this afternoon," Portia says to Peeta.

Breakfast is pleasant enough. Peeta smiles more freely. He even talks to me, which is a marked improvement over the last couple of weeks. Haymitch is surprised when Peeta asks him to a game of chess and can't wipe the stupid grin from his face when he follows him to the lounge car. Effie excuses herself politely to work on her itinerary and study her list of "who's who" for the upcoming district. I hadn't realized how much work Effie put into all this social decorum until this Tour. She studies voraciously. Any misstep or faux pax would be unacceptable to her. I thought it was silly until our first dinner in District 10. Effie knew every important person in the district and made sure we were shaking hands with the right people. Those that may have Snow's ear, or at least his unwanted attention. People we needed to convince. We made sure to play up the story around them. I remember that first night Peeta kissed my neck in front their mayor. We were mid conversation. I made a joke that wasn't funny and Peeta leaned over and brushed his lips lightly against my neck, as if it were the most comfortable thing in the world. As if he'd done it a million times. I ignored the fluttering feeling in my stomach. In District 8, we snuck away for the first time when Peeta noticed one of the VIPs making their rounds as they prepared to leave. We kept an uncomfortable distance between us as we wandered down the hall of the Justice Building, attempting to get caught.

 _"I saw the coat closet out here somewhere," I mutter. Without the watchful eye of the cameras or the crowd, Peeta is stiff with me. "Here it is," I announce and we duck inside. Once the door is closed behind us neither of us are really sure what to do._

 _"Untuck your shirt," I order. Peeta nods his head and tugs his shirt from the waist of his pants._

 _"Maybe you should mess up your hair," Peeta suggests. I nod and shake my fingers through the elaborate hairstyle until a few locks are noticeably out of place. I pinch my cheeks so they look flushed. We wait silently. I look at Peeta while he stares at the floor. When he brings his eyes up to mine I flip them to the wall. It's the most time we've spent alone since the fight. When we hear the sound of footsteps outside we rush together, awkwardly bumping into each other._

 _"Sorry," Peeta murmurs before bringing his lips to mine. We kiss with a mindful ear outside the door. "I'm going to push you against the wall," Peeta whispers as his mouth moves to my neck._

 _"Okay," I breathe back. I know this isn't real, I know this is part of the show, but my knees feel weak as he nips my skin slightly. I can't help it, I let out a light sigh and I can feel Peeta's body react. His fingertips grip my skin just a little harder as he lets out a shaky breath into my neck. His lips move to my collarbone and I grab his shirt and start unbuttoning his collar. Outside the door we hear the footsteps move on. Peeta pulls his mouth from my throat and blows air through his lips. His weight is still pressed against me and I close my eyes and just feel him here. He drops his forehead against the wall._

 _"Dammit, Katniss," he breathes._

 _We don't talk about it. A moment later we hear another set of footsteps. Peeta's palm slides across my cheek before his mouth finds mine. This time the closet door opens._

I didn't think it was possible, but he was even more distant that night on the train.

I realize I'm sitting alone at the dining table. I get up awkwardly and walk down the train hallway. I find myself in the last car again. I like being away from people. I can think here, watching the world rush away from me.

I don't know if we're convincing anyone.

I don't know if I want to.

I want to keep Prim safe. And Gale. I wish I could take them somewhere beyond Snow's reach. Hide them away in the woods so I could fight back without having to worry about them. Gale could keep them alive, I know he could.

It's a useless fantasy. I say the wrong thing, Prim gets reaped. I step the wrong way, Gale gets hanged. It's not about me, what I want. It's about keeping them alive. But every district we visit brings a different kind of agony to bear witness to, to digest, to haunt your dreams. Those districts like 12, where everyone is bony from hunger, where children's eyes look too big for their tiny heads. Districts like 7, where the labor is so intense their elderly population hunches over with crooked backs. Districts like 11, where there is a palpable fear in the air and razor wire on the fences. But in each district there is the same persistent undercurrent. Rebel. Hope. Fight back.

I'm a disappointment.

I hear uneven footsteps behind me and I know immediately it's Peeta. I assumed he'd have another fitting or some other excuse not to be around me, but I think something changed between us last night. I don't know if he forgave me. I don't think so. But I think now he wants to.

"Hey," Peeta says. It's the first time he's reached out to me since our falling out.

"Hi," I respond lamely.

"Is this where you've been spending your time?" he asks.

"Mostly," I answer, staring out the window as the wilderness overtakes me. I try to still the thoughts churning in my head.

"I like it. It's quiet," Peeta offers.

"Yeah," is all I can manage. I can't calm my brain.

"Mind if I stay here with you for a little while?"

"Shouldn't you be with Portia?" I ask without thinking.

"Why would I...?" Peeta's voice trails off as he looks at me. A realization washes over his face. You'd have to be blind not to have noticed how close they've grown over the last couple of weeks. "Katniss, are you jealous of Portia?"

We said no more secrets. No more lies. I stare at the floor in response. Peeta starts laughing lightly and sits beside me. I swat him in the arm.

"I'm sorry, it's just... you are adorable," he chuckles. I don't find him adorable in this moment at all. I don't like being laughed at. At my scowl his smile drops. "Wait are you serious?"

I feel my cheeks flush red and I'm angry with my body for betraying me.

"Katniss, Portia's gay. You know that, right?"

"Oh," I say, obviously surprised. Portia's gay? I've never met a gay person. Well, I don't think I have. Homosexuality is forbidden in the districts. Part of our service to Panem includes procreation. Marriage is between a man and woman through Capitol edict. The Justice Building doesn't assign housing to same-sex partners, if any had ever applied. I've never seen one. There are rumors, of course. People who live and die alone. Obligatory marriages that seem more like friendship than romance. In the Capitol they can do whatever they want. Love whoever they want. In the districts every aspect of our life is in service to the nation. I had wondered what had made a rich girl like Portia pick a pathetic district like ours. What made her smile knowingly at Cinna when a dress or an outfit drew a reaction.

She has a people to fight for, too.

Peeta smiles at me. "I was mad... I am mad... but I'm still yours."

Normally confessions like this make me uncomfortable. He doesn't say them. He bites his tongue because he knows I will bolt. But in this one moment, I feel whole for the first time in weeks.

I lean forward and gently press my lips to his. Peeta inhales quickly and I feel the air rush across my lips.

"Sorry," I whisper, pulling away. He catches my face with his hands.

"No, it's okay," he responds, moving his mouth back to mine. We've kissed a lot since the Tour started, in front of cameras or guests or crowds of people, but everything about this kiss feels different. He's actually there, in it with me. His hand slides up and gently cups my jaw as his lips move against mine. I pull him closer. We kiss until we are out of breath. We kiss until every ugly, unhappy thought is pushed from our minds.

We've never kissed like this before. This is a kiss that is saying something. I'm yours. You're mine. Even if things are messed up between us, that is still true.

"I do have to go find Portia," Peeta breathes, his hands still in my hair, his forehead pressed against mine. "You should come. Cinna will need you."

When I see what they've been working on I understand why there have been all the late nights. The gown I am to wear in the District 4 parade is absolutely exquisite. It's like a tribute to the sea district. There is an extravagant train that flows behind the dress and it looks like waves crashing into a rocky shore. The dress is deep blue, but the color changes and shifts as I move, the way the ocean is constantly swirling and ebbing and surging.

This dress is a statement.

It shows unity between the districts. It shows respect between brethren.

I shouldn't wear this dress. It will incite feelings of comradery. It will remind the districts we are stronger united than we are apart. The Capitol doesn't want us to feel like one. They keep us separated for a reason. They make us competitive and hostile with one another. They break us into controllable pieces. This dress says the exact opposite. It says you are part of me, and I you. I shouldn't wear this dress.

But as I swish my hips and watch the train move with me, I know I have to.

Just this once, in this one subtle way.

District 4 and District 12 are not just isolated cogs in a machine. We are one.

"Cinna," I murmur, awestruck. Peeta and Portia can't stop grinning.

"You don't have to wear it if you don't want to. We still have the original outfits," Cinna offers.

"I want to," I say firmly.

I want to.


	25. Chapter 25 - An Ally, A Lover

Peeta walks me to my room as the train pulls away from District 5. I feel sick. All day I've felt sick, like my bones ache, like my entire core is filled with rot. It's not illness though – it's regret. Grief. Other unnamable emotions that are too complicated to define and too intense to ignore. I want out of this dress. I want out of this Tour. I just want some time alone to think about the red-headed girl from District 5 that we lost in the Arena. The clever girl who should have lived beyond fifteen.

We pause in front of my door.

"You okay?" he asks, leaning against the wall. I'm about to respond when I catch his eyes. The blue is more dull than usual. There's a sadness settled there. I'm not the only one this district messed up. Peeta still feels responsible for Foxface's death.

"I'll be okay," I answer. It's not really a lie. It's not entirely a lie. "You?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Peeta says, clearing his throat and standing up straight, but the cloudiness never leaves his gaze. "I'll see you tomorrow then? Portia said we had one final fitting before Four."

"Yeah, Cinna wants me in the dressing car by nine," I answer. We stand awkwardly until Peeta steps forward and hugs me. I'm not quite sure what to do at first, but he's so warm and the feel of him against me makes the ache just a little less potent. I sink into his chest. His hand travels up and strokes the hair on the back of my head. It lasts longer than it should, yet not long enough. When he finally steps away from me I mirror the action and straighten the collar on my dress.

"Good night, Katniss," Peeta says softly, before turning around and walking back down the hall toward his room.

Inside my compartment, I strip off the party gown and leave it in a careless pile on the floor. I shower until every bit of hair gel and paint and mascara has been purged from my skin. I feel the hurt seeping out of my pores. It leaves its print on the walls, on the mirror, like the steam from the hot water, but more permanent.

I don't even bother with the drying mat. I tie my hair up in wet knot and find a pair of pajamas in the drawer. I have enough pajamas that I could wear a new pair every day of this Tour and never need laundry. At home we sleep in old tee shirts and clothes that don't fit us anymore. Things that are soft from years of wear, not some high-end thread that costs a month's food ration.

I don't even bother trying to sleep. I know that's not a possibility.

Instead I meander down the hall, following the same path I do on each of these nightly rituals. My mind wanders just l like my feet. I see Foxface's family. They looked like they belonged together. Her father had fiery orange-red hair and a beard. He was a big man, but he looked like he was broken and pretending not to be. He held his head high with his jaw was set hard. It made him look stern, but I know how that look feels to wear. He'd clenched together tight so he wouldn't shake, so his jaw doesn't betray the sorrow he was beating back inside him. There was nothing he could do to protect his daughter. There's nothing he can do now to stop the grief. Wrapped in his arms was a petite blonde wife who never stopped crying the whole ceremony and a tiny girl, maybe five, with the same soft red hair Foxface had.

I'm never sleeping tonight.

I eventually make my way to the last car. It's a different place at night. The wilderness is black outside the windows. Occasionally I'll see the fleeting silhouette of a tree against the midnight blue sky, but mostly it's just black on black on black. But I know something it out there. I know we're moving. I can feel it.

That's what I want to do. I want to move. I want to take an unexpected turn in this cyclical torture Snow has us reliving. I want to give Foxface's dad a reason to clench his jaw that doesn't have to do with grief, but defiance. I've been counting the days to District 4.

I hear an uneven movement in the hall. I don't turn around until he's in the doorway.

"Hey," Peeta says softly. He's wearing a white tee shirt and a pair of pajama pants drawn with a string.

"Hey," I answer back, staring into the night.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asks, and I let out a scoffing kind of laugh.

"Sorry," I mutter.

Peeta doesn't say anything, he just stares out into the night like I am. I turn and look at him. There's something in the way he looks that feels like I'm staring in a mirror.

Regret. He's feeling exactly what I am.

"I just wish we could do more," he says quietly, but I know what he is saying. This game we are playing – placating the districts, calming the storm – he doesn't like it either. He wants to fight back. He feels exactly like I do – trapped.

I want him back. I need him back. I need my friend. Whatever we are to each other, I need it back.

I reach over and weave my fingers in his, tugging him toward me. He sits on the bench beside me. We don't talk. Peeta and I have spent hours talking before, wasted entire nights on superficial words. In this moment, when we have so much to say to one another, we can't talk. We just ride through the night, wishing for things to be different.

"You could sleep if you want," Peeta offers. I look at him, concern etched on his brow. He knows I haven't been sleeping. He's not stupid. I'm clumsy and pale and my eyes have this sunken in look which is no longer able to be hidden by layers of makeup. Yesterday Octavia wanted to inject some liquid from a needle in my skin until Cinna forbade her. But Peeta hasn't been sleeping either. Maybe he hides it better than me, but I know he doesn't sleep when his false leg drags.

"Okay," I respond, dropping my head into his lap. It's only a few minutes before I'm out. Between the days of lost sleep, the peaceful rocking of the train, and the warmth of Peeta's legs, it's not much of a fight. I think I'm out for maybe an hour, but it feels like only moments slip by before I wake gasping for air. I'm like a fish trapped in one of Gale's nets – sucking air uselessly, unable to breathe.

"Hey, you're okay," Peeta says, and the images of Foxface – emaciated and pale with lips stained in blue-black juice – slip away. Peeta's fingers scratch my scalp gently as he whispers quiet assurances.

I sit up, frustrated. Peeta's right here and still a million miles away. This is almost worse than not having him at all.

"I'm going to go to my room," I say, standing up from the bench.

"Katniss–"

"Night," I throw over my shoulder before marching down the hall.

The next morning the train stops for fuel and we empty out onto the tracks. The guards have stopped caring. We always come back. They are just as stir crazy as we are. I'm listening to Haymitch give instructions for District 4. It's our first parade. It's our first career district.

"The speech will be a little different, but just stick to the cards and you'll be fine," he says, handing Peeta and me Effie's revised oration. I stare at the words. More pacification. More appeasing Snow.

"Or?" I ask. Haymitch takes me in.

"Or what?" he retorts.

"What happens if that's not what I say?" I ask.

Haymitch spits on the ground and studies my face. "You want the bad version or the worse version?" he asks, stealing a glance at Peeta and looking back at me.

"Both, I guess," I answer.

"Bad version is Snow kills your little sis. Probably your mom. Definitely me. Makes an example of the Hawthorne boy."

"And the worse version?" I ask, trying to keep my face straight. I can feel Peeta holding his breath next to me.

"District 12 suffers the same fate as District 13," Haymitch answers back. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to sort this out in my head.

"Okay," I say, dejected. I turn to go.

"Katniss?"

I pause, turning back to my mentor.

"The people don't need overt. They don't need you to give them some big speech. They just… they need you," Haymitch says under his breath.

"What does that mean?" I ask.

"You'll figure it out," he answers, then crosses in front of Peeta and me and heads back to the train. We stare at each other.

"We'll figure it out," Peeta says, grabbing my hand. I don't know why, but I believe him.

We have our final fittings. We eat dinner. We go our separate ways.

It's nearly two in the morning when there's a knock at my door. I get up from bed and pad over to my door. I open it and find Peeta in the hallway.

"Hi," I say, but I've hardly said that before he's stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me, tight. My arms automatically go up and I squeeze him as hard as I can. His arms go slack as he tries to step back from me, but I just hold him tighter. I feel his body laughing lightly against mine.

"I'm staying," Peeta whispers, as if even a few spoken words might wake the rest of the train. I finally let go and look up at him. "Tomorrow's a big day and neither of us have slept in weeks."

Oh. It's… It's practical. He's here because we need to be on our game tomorrow. It makes sense, but I let the hope drain from my veins.

It's as if he can read my mind because Peeta tilts his head a little and meets my eyes. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. Nothing about us has ever been practical and neither is this. He leans down and gently brushes his lips against mine. "I want to stay if you'll let me," he breathes. I nod.

He closes the door silently and follows me across the room. It's almost black in the room with the light from the hall penetrating only a thin line under the door.

"Your window's open," Peeta says, feeling the sweep of cold air move across the room. In the way that warm air is heavy, cold air is light. It fills a room with an airy stillness to it.

"I just… got used to it," I say. And it makes me miss you less, but those words stay in my throat. Peeta lifts the heavy quilt and we both crawl under. He finds my hand under the blanket and weaves my fingers in his.

I forgot how good sleep feels.

The next morning, I fidget while Cinna adjusts the long train flowing behind our chariot. I almost feel like we are in the tribute parade against, except this time as Careers. After he makes the final touches, Cinna steps up onto the back of the cart. I twist my body to meet his eyes. Peeta grabs my hand to help me balance, which is difficult enough with the uneven weight distribution of the train and the structure of the dress itself.

"The train comes off after the parade. You'll be able to move again," Cinna winks.

"The cameras love a good transition," Portia adds from the ground.

"You got this. Chin up. Smile, but not that fake one you've been wearing around. Show them you care," Cinna says.

I think back to our arrival just hours before. We got off the train just after dawn. District 4 is unlike anything I've ever seen before. There is sand and rock and plants I'm unfamiliar with. The early mornings in District 12 are completely silent, but it's never quiet here. The ocean waves come and go and talk to you like some constant you didn't know you needed. Even the air smells like sea salt and leaves your skin feeling sheened in ocean. Peeta and I were given an unofficial tour while our garments and other items were moved to the Justice Building. Down by the water, under the crash of the waves, we could finally talk.

 _"It's breaking you, isn't it?" Peeta asks. I try not to react. I don't want to pique the attention of our guards. "Seeing the families? The people in the districts? It's different than what they show on TV."_

 _The Victory Tour coverage is groomed for mass appeal. I've always known that. The footage in District 12 doesn't show us quietly starving in our homes or dying noisily from black lung. It shows a modest crowd obedient to authority. Occasionally a tour of the mines where we scrounge together enough safety equipment to outfit one or two workers._

 _I suspected the same would be true of other districts, but the amount of sheer poverty is devastating. It's the children that wreck me, though. That haunt me at night. Little kids afraid of their name being drawn, fearful of a horrific and untimely death, only to find a slower and equally cruel one at home. Gaunt faces and hallowing eyes. Meanwhile the gluttonous live in luxury in the Capitol, reaping district children for entertainment and parading their deaths to reinforce their subjection. The odds are never in our favor._

 _Peeta and I have seen the real thing now - weeping families, desperate people, a quiet yearning for change, an undertow that maybe we are ready to fight for it._

 _"It's breaking me," he says softly, his words swallowed by the sea._

 _"I don't know how to fight back and keep Prim safe," I answer. Peeta thinks for a moment._

 _"We have to fight back without Snow realizing it," he says._

 _District 4 is a start to something. We're just not sure what. But it's the first time I've entered a district and something felt right in my heart._

When the chariot pulls us away, crowds of people line the streets. This is a career district, one where the Games are supposed to be celebrated. But the people's idol cheers fall to a beautiful lull as they lay eyes on us.

Peeta's suit is a crisp blue, fitted and shimmering, but the real cause for wonder is my train. It flows behind me, the wind catching the fabric and moving it in mesmerizing ways. Cinna has layered blues and teals and greens. He cut the fabric so it moves like the ocean does. Each piece is edged with an iridescent white satin that curls and retreats until it looks like waves cresting.

The crowd is nearly silent. As a Career district, they are known to fervently honor the glory of the reigning victor, regardless of their district of origin. But there's never been a victor from one district honoring the people of another. The people of District 4 have never seen an outright display of respect and solidarity between two districts the Capitol has worked so carefully to divide and pit against each other. It starts quietly and grows like a wave rushing the shore. By the time we reach the podium, the cheers are deafening. Over in the corner of my eye I can see Effie giving an interview to a camera. I assume Caesar is on the other side. She's doing her part – being flighty and talking about the fashion of it all. Making it out to be nothing more than an opportunity to play with the contrasts of silk and taffeta and nothing to do with a bridge between two peoples.

We give the speech on the cards, but no one could hear our words over the roar of the crowd. When we retreat inside for the banquet, I can't seem to wipe the smile of my face.

"That's what I'm talking about, sweetheart," Haymitch says under his breath as he pretends to hug me. Cinna and Portia are supposed to work my transition, but the reporters have them pinned in a corner with cameras and microphones so numerous I can barely make out their feet. My prep team jumps into action and I feel as though I barely weigh anything once the hefty train is removed.

We do interviews. We accept the district token – a statue of the Cornucopia from our Games shaped from sea glass. Peeta takes it from my hands before I smash it into the ground. By the time the banquet rolls around I'm starving, but when the food arrives I hardly know what to do with any of it. I've eaten fish, yes, and occasionally snails, but all the food here has shells and other seemingly impenetrable armors. Effie comes and steals Peeta for a moment with an important someone or other. I take the tiny fork next to my plate and attempt to stab open some multi-legged sea creature.

"Woah there," I hear from behind me and a man sits in Peeta's seat. He reaches over and starts to take the fork from my hand but I'm immediately on edge. I know an act when I see one. I know a threat. The man senses my muscles tightening and I immediately feel him counter. He forces my wrist to the table but I toss the fork to my other hand and move it toward his throat. I expect some sort of aggression from him, but when I meet his sea green eyes he's smiling brightly. Our faces are barely an inch apart.

"Fiesty," he practically purrs, and I drop the fork and move away from him in my seat. "Oh come on, girl on fire. I was trying to help," he pouts. He takes a knife from my litany of foreign silverware and slides it along the underbelly of the shelled creature. "Look, just take the blade and run it along here until you feel a slight release, and then snap!" It cracks open in his hands and he sets it on my plate. "Here, a peace offering," he smiles, his teeth straight and pearly white against his sun-kissed skin. I scowl before I place him. He's a victor. Finnick Odair. Beloved by the Capitol. I'm sure he has Snow's ear. If I'm going to play up the love story, now's the time.

"You're in Peeta's seat," I say curtly. Finnick slides in closer.

"Am I? I didn't see ole peg leg around," he counters. I can't decide if I should slap him or laugh or flirt or cry. What would a lovesick schoolgirl do? I have no idea. I've never been any good at his. When Finnick sweeps his hand in my hair and presses his cheek to mine, I lean strongly toward hitting him when I hear his voice in my ear, firm and serious with every bit of playful charm evaporated.

"Laugh like I said something funny," he instructs. I'm so surprised I just do as he suggests. "Good. Now look around the room for Peeta. Make it really obvious." As I scan the room for Peeta, his tone grows more serious. "We were really impressed with what you did today, Katniss. We need to meet to discuss next steps. After this, you need to go out into the mezzanine, take the tiled hallway to your left until you reach the flight of marble stairs. Follow those all the way up and you'll find a long hallway with a railing along the right wall. Go three doors down on the right, knock with four quick raps, and wait. Got it?"

"What?" I spit out.

"Got it?" he repeats. I nod. "I'm going to nip your neck now. You need to shove me to the floor. Make a scene about it. You want people to see you are dedicated to Peeta. I'm sure people are watching us by now, right?"

I look around the room and indeed, there are eyes on me everywhere.

"Peeta will follow you out. Wait for him on the stairs. The two of you need to go alone. No one else. Make sure no one is following you. Ready?"

"Why are you –" Before I can finish my sentence I feel his lips suckle my neck and his teeth lightly bite my skin. I shoot to my feet and shove him violently to the ground. Finnick grabs the table cloth on the way down, making a scene out of taking down an entire plate of crab's legs that clatter loudly when the metal platter hits the floor.

"Don't you ever touch me again!" I spit at him. In a last minute moment of improvisation, I grab my wine glass from the table and throw the drink in his face. The purplish red stains his white shirt and he looks up at me in shock, smiling quickly before burying it.

I turn on my heel and storm out of the room. I hear my shoes loudly clicking on the tile floor. I pause on the first step and Peeta comes flying out the door into the mezzanine.

"Katniss?" he calls out. He sees me and I wave him over. He goes to talk but I put my hand to his lips and shake my head. He nods knowingly. His eyes drop to my neck and I suspect Finnick left a mark by the way Peeta's eyes bulge from his head.

"Are you OK?" he mouths.

"Follow me," I whisper, and we head up the stairs.


	26. Chapter 26 - Opportunities

The sounds of the party below are completely silenced when the door is closed behind us.

"Welcome to the resistance," an unknown man says. I can't tell if he's being sarcastic or genuine. The room is plain. It looks like any office might - a large, mahogany desk, long curtains, a sitting area with a table and shaded lamp, a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled with academic texts... It's the attendees that I'm unsure of.

The mayor of District 4 – short but stocky with speckled salt and pepper hair. A tall, muscular woman - presumably another victor. The man at the door. He's older, but not quite as old as Haymitch. His hair is blonde, but not golden like Peeta's. More like a pale, almost whitish color. He's clean shaven, dressed well. He swells slightly around his belt and drops his chin when he speaks.

"We've been asked to speak with you about your actions today," the man says. He's the only one talking.

"We didn't do anything," I insist, my eyes glued to the mayor. I have no idea what he might say to the president in one of his status reports. I know all the mayors do this. Madge told Peeta as much.

"Exactly, Katniss. You didn't do anything. You drew no negative attention from the Capitol. And yet the people of District Four were united today in an unprecedented way. You got through to them," he insists.

I respond with a scowl. The man looks at my analytically.

"I thought you wanted this. Cinna said –"

He's unable to finish the sentence, interrupted by a knock at the door. Four quick raps. The mayor crosses and opens the door. Finnick Odair spills into the room, all smiles and white teeth.

"Sorry I'm late. I grabbed a change of clothes," Finnick announces, holding a crisp white shirt in his hand. I feel Peeta tense next to me.

"Mister Odair. We weren't expecting you," the man says, his voice sort of congenial, but a little too even.

"Well, I wasn't gonna come but this one gave me the perfect excuse to leave the party for a few minutes," he answers, winking at me with a charming smile. I guess this part of his personality wasn't fake after all. Or he's still putting on a show. I'm not sure I can trust him. I'm not sure I trust any of them.

"We were just explaining to Miss Everdeen and Mister Mellark about their impacts here in District Four," the man says.

Finnick turns to me with a giant smile. "You two were brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."

"We didn't do much," I answer.

"Yes, you did. The country doesn't need you to stand up there and tell them to fight. What we need to remember is that we aren't alone. The districts are not enemies. Right now we need to remind each other that we are in this together. And that when we are ready to fight, none of us will be doing it alone," Finnick explains. "That's what you showed them today. Just being here and offering a gesture of respect…" Finnick pauses and watches me for a moment. "You really don't know the effect you have on people."

Next to me, Peeta smirks. I elbow him slightly.

"So who are you people?" Peeta asks, trying to temper his tone. Unlike my immediate reproach, he seems optimistically intrigued.

"Let's just say there is an underground resistance that's been in the works for a while now. We've been gathering resources, people, intel… But mostly we've been waiting for the right moment, and that's where you two come in," the man says, pushing a piece of blonde hair from his face.

I hear Snow in my head. A spark, left unchecked, that could set all of Panem ablaze.

"The right moment to what?" I ask.

"Turn a resistance into a rebellion," he answers.

An unexpected pounding on the door causes the doughy man to nearly leap from his skin. Peeta, Finnick, and I look alert. I cast my eyes over to the woman and I can see her muscles engaged, her hands ready. Definitely a victor.

"Don't get it," the man says.

Finnick rolls his eyes. "That wouldn't look at all suspicious, would it?" he says sarcastically. Finnick moves to the door. Outside stands our mentor, the worried look on his face evaporating into something else. Anger.

"Unbelievable," he mutters. He turns his eyes to Peeta and me. "You two. Outside. Now." I'm not accustomed to taking orders but I've never seen him like this. Haymitch looks like he might burst. He is nearly trembling in anger.

"Okay," I say, but my eyes find Finnick's. He nods. This isn't over.

Peeta and I step outside and pretend to close the door, but knowing the room is soundproof we leave it cracked slightly and press our ears to the open space.

"What the hell are you doing in here?' Haymitch screams at the entire group. He knows who they are, what they do. He knows what they represent. "Answer me!"

"After today, we felt it best if we coordinated the last districts of the Tour with the victors. See how we can best exploit this opportunity," I hear the man's voice return. He hasn't lost the steadiness in his tone.

"I told you to leave them out of it!" Haymitch yells back erratically. Peeta and I look at each other.

"They are rebels," the man says.

"They are children! You _exploit_ them and you are no better than the Capitol. That girl nearly died to save her sister. Who do you think Snow will go after if he hears even a breath of her involvement in this? A hint of it? Huh?" Haymitch has such vitriol in his voice I wonder how they could even be on the same side. "Maybe you can live with that but she couldn't. And you don't get to decide for her. You don't get to paint her a pretty picture like she's the savior. Pressure her into thinking there's a whole rebellion riding on her shoulders. If she wants to fight back, she will choose to do it. You don't get to drag her and the kid into a room and make the choice for them!"

"We were making them aware of their options," the man replies.

"She's a pawn to you, Plutarch," Haymitch replies. The man scoffs. I think back to his words just moments ago. The people of District 4. You got through to them. _Them._ Not us. He's not even from here. Who is this man?

" _If_ and when Katniss and Peeta choose to join the resistance, it won't be because you blindside them without a plan. How are you going to protect her family?" Haymitch insists. It's quiet. "You don't talk to her again until you have a plan, got it?"

"We may miss our opportunity," Plutarch says coolly.

"Then you better think quick," Haymitch responds.

I urge the door open slightly so we can see.

Haymitch's eyes shift from Plutarch to Finnick. "I expected better from you, Finnick." Haymitch clears his throat and turns toward the door. Peeta and I shuffle backward but when he opens it, it's obvious the conversation was not private.

"Come on, you two. Effie's worried sick," Haymitch orders, walking briskly down the hall. I don't think I've ever seen Haymitch do anything briskly, except maybe open a bottle of white liquor. Peeta and I look at each other. I peek over his shoulder and make eye contact with Finnick, still in the office.

"Sorry," he mouths. He and Peeta give each other a short wave and we follow our mentor down the hall. Resentment pulses through me.

"Hey!" I say, but he ignores me. "Hey!" I shout, and Haymitch spins around.

"What was that?" I spit out. I'm not talking about who those people were. I'm talking about Haymitch's reaction.

"I'm trying to protect you," Haymitch says. There's not much we can say in the hall. This place will be lined with listening devices, just like every other piece of property built by the Capitol.

"You don't get to decide for me, either, Haymitch," I shoot at him. If he's offended or hurt he's not showing it. He glares at me. "You don't get to make my choices for me. I am not a child." I push past him.

"Then stop acting like one," he retorts at my back.

"And you stop acting like you're my father. You're not," I hiss.

"Was I wrong?" he says evenly. I turn back and stare at him. Would I join a rebellion if it meant sacrificing my sister?

No. Never. But I refuse to give him the satisfaction. I turn and stomp down the hall.

The rest of the party is indistinguishable from the previous ones. Food. Dancing. Drinks. Finnick returns to the party and I keep a wide berth. We need to keep up appearances. I see him cross to Peeta, offer a hand. Peeta shakes it and they break apart.

On the train, we wait until the rest of the crew is asleep before Peeta sneaks to my room. He knocks softly and I let him in.

"Still mad?" he asks, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. The gesture is gentle. It feels out of place with the rage boiling in my stomach, and when his fingertips barely brush the skin of my cheek I feel the anger leak away from me.

"Yeah," I say, but it's not convincing.

We can't talk about it. We can't fix anything tonight. But Haymitch's words haunt me. They were trying to manipulate me. He didn't want me involved because they didn't have a plan for Prim. He knew what was important to me. He knows me well.

I hate him for it.

"Katniss, I want to help but…" Peeta's words drop off. He pulls me into a hug. His mouth brushes against my earlobe. "I just found her, Katniss. I don't think I can lose her." I nod and I know he can feel it because his muscles relax. "I've never felt so selfish in my life," he mutters into my hair.

"It's not selfish," I whisper back, but I think we've already said too much. I drop my forehead to his shoulder. "I missed you," I say after a while. Peeta runs his hand up and down my back, making lazy, slow paths.

"I missed you, too," he says back. His breathing grows shallow and his touch light. I turn my head and lightly press my mouth to his throat. I feel his pulse hammering on my lips. "Katniss…" He drops his head and his mouth finds mine. Our lips move with one another and we kiss deliberately. Peeta's hands knot in my hair and he tugs it slightly. I sigh a little into his mouth and I hear him breathe in quickly.

"What is this? What are we doing?" he asks, pulling away. I suddenly feel cold and empty. My lips tingle as the blood pulses through my veins. "I know we don't say it, but… I'm in love with you, Katniss. And all of this… I want this, but… what is this to you?"

"I don't know," I respond. We said no lying. "But... I want it."

He looks at me like it's not what he wants, but for now it's enough. He moves forward toward me again, and this time the kissing is less slow and more fevered. He's tugging at my clothes, pulling me closer. I wrap my arms around his neck and his hands drop to the backs of my thighs. He lifts me like I weigh nothing and I wrap my legs around his waist. His skin feels like fire, but it's addictive and I slide my hands under his shirt when he drops me on the bed.

Peeta hesitates for a moment, not sure if we should be doing this, and I pull myself up and find his lips again, kissing him deeply. I feel him exhale into my mouth and I pull him down on the bed on top of me.

This is new. This is all new and I have no idea what I should be doing but my body seems to know. My hips roll up into him and Peeta groans and drops to his elbows, his weight pressing against my body.

"Katniss," he pants, his eyes looking at me with a question behind them he knows I don't want to hear. I repeat the motion and a rumble escapes his throat. He shifts himself slightly until I can feel him pressed into me and then he drops his hips into mine. My back arches and something wonderful and new and warm happens between my legs. I don't know how to react as my stomach whirls and this feeling spreads over me and snakes inside my body. A noise escapes my throat and Peeta pauses and looks at my face. I suddenly feel very self-conscious. A blush burns its way across my cheeks and I shift back away from him on the bed.

"Are you okay?" he asks gently. I nod, but I don't think I'm all that convincing. "Did you not want me to do that? You look surprised." I feel like my face is burning and I know whatever pink flush was on my cheeks before has been overcome by an embarrassed red. "I won't do anything you don't want me to."

"I just… I don't know what I'm doing. I've never done any of this before," I spit out. I don't like being vulnerable. I don't want to look stupid.

"Me either," he responds. Peeta looks at me carefully, not moving unless I say so. I nod. He drops his hips forward and I feel him press against that place again. I bite my lip hard, trying not to moan. A look crosses his face. "Oh you mean… ever. Like not even by yourself."

I pull myself out from under him and snap my legs shut. I roll over and stare at the wall. Peeta runs his hand gently along my back.

"I'm sorry, that was mean," he says softly. "Do you just want to go to sleep?" he says. I stare at the wall, not responding. He lets the silence sit, waiting for me. His voice is quieter the second time. Cautious. Careful. "Do you want me to touch you?" I don't realize I'm even reacting but I hear the word yes slip from my lips.

Peeta pulls his body to mine tenderly, his chest pressed against my back. I feel his hand drop to my hip, warm and rough. "If you want me to stop, just say so. Just because we're doing this now doesn't mean we have to keep doing it."

"Okay," I feel myself say.

His hand moves slowly downward and my chest clenches in a nervous way. When he slides over my stomach it's as though there is something fluttering inside. My heart hammers so hard in my chest I feel a little dizzy. His hand slips under the waistband of my pants and over the thin fabric of my cotton underwear.

"Okay so far?" he checks in. I nod my head. I don't think I could form words right now even if I wanted to. He explores for a moment, moving his fingertips tenderly over me until my breath hitches. "There?" he asks. I bite my lip and nod. He starts moving his fingers in slow, intentional circles and I feel like everything inside of me has melted and the only thing pumping through my veins is fire. My hips start moving slightly, pushing against his hands. "More?" he asks quietly.

"Mm," is all I can manage, and he presses a little harder and moves a little faster. I start to pant and a sheen of sweat glistens over my skin. It's as if the air is electric, buzzing and vibrating around me. I whimper slightly and I feel Peeta behind me, holding his breath.

"Breathe," I whisper, and he lets out a shaky breath that feels like it runs through my entire body. His hand moves quicker still – steady, direct. He's coaxing me toward something. I can feel it building in my lower stomach – muscles clenching, blooding pumping. Peeta's lips drop to my throat and I can't stifle the moan from crossing my lips.

"Katniss," Peeta breathes my name across my throat, still wet from his mouth, and my skin prickles in response. I squeeze my eyes shut and I can feel a whimper slip over my tongue. I press my lips together and I feel a rush of something coming toward me.

It hits me the way a wave might crash into the sand, reaching its way through my body until everything feels warm and tingly. I feel myself pulsing around Peeta's fingers as he pushes me through it. It's like I'm radiating, like I'm just light and nothing else. When I come back down, his fingers slow and then finally stop. He gently pulls his hand away from me and presses his lips to my cheek.

"That was the most incredible thing I've ever seen," he whispers.

I can't respond. I'm sinking into the bed, melting into the sheets. I feel like I'm trembling and can't stay still.

"You okay? Was that okay?" he asks, his eyes on my face.

"Yeah," I breathe out. "That was okay."

He laughs a little and drops to his back.

"I can't believe that just happened," he says, a stupid smile on his face. "I love–" He doesn't finish, though. He catches the words in his mouth. He rolls back toward me and wraps his body around mine. I tilt my head back and press my mouth to his. I can barely manage the kiss, every inch of my body still sensitive and loose.

I feel his fingers run gently along my throat. I shiver.

"Katniss?" Peeta whispers.

"Hm?" I ask, eyes closed.

"He left a mark," Peeta says, his fingers still over where Finnick's mouth had been pressed to my skin.

"Peeta, it wasn't–"

"Can I…" His voice is quiet. Wary. I turn my face away, exposing my neck to him. Peeta's mouth drops to the spot. Everything about my body is hypersensitive and I writhe as he sucks at the delicate skin. He stops, dragging his lips away from me. I see him smile out of the corner of my eye. "Better," he whispers playfully.

"Better," I confirm.

I've never slept as soundly as I do that night.

 **A/N: Hey all! Sorry for the super long delay. I have a huge project due at work and I've been working 70ish hours the last couple weeks. The project is due on 9/21, so please forgive me if updates are slow until then. I swear I'm not abandoning this story or losing motivation, there are just only so many hours in a day!**


	27. Chapter 27 - Glowing

I'd forgotten how perfect mornings with Peeta are. Quiet. Warm. The train rocks us slowly as the morning light creeps in the window. I can tell he woke up a while ago but he doesn't want this to end so he pretends he's asleep behind me. I keep my eyes closed, my lips still. We're both awake. I guess this one lie is okay. Peeta's chest rests against my back and I feel his heart beat slowly in his chest.

"I should go back to my room," he finally whispers, the words barely audible on his lips.

I make a disapproving noise and roll over onto my other side to face him, wrapping my arms around his torso. He laughs lightly.

"Katniss, Effie will be here soon and she'll lose her mind if she catches me here," he says, but I just squeeze him tighter.

"Five minutes," I mumble, still half asleep. I haven't slept in so long.

"Five minutes," he acquiesces, dropping his weight back into the bed. He plays with my hair idly with his fingers. Everything is calm. We both slept through the night. There is something blissful about a morning absent the lingering terror of a nightmare. When I close my eyes I see nothing. There's peace in nothing.

Until the knock on the door.

It's not Effie. She knocks with the same tight precision she brings to everything. If a knock could be shrill, hers is.

It's not my prep team. They knock with flurry and gusto while they bustle the way through the door, response or not. Besides, we have nowhere to be today.

I bury my head under the pillow.

"Katniss," Peeta prompts.

I groan and pull myself from bed. It's too early for whatever Capitol attendant wants to fluff my pillows. I open the door to my compartment, just slightly, blocking the view to my room with my body. I have no interest in Peeta and my sleeping arrangement becoming the gossip of the train. Instead, though, I find an unexpected visitor.

"You lost?" I grumble, not pleased to see him. Haymitch looks disheveled to say the least. It would make sense if he were drunk, but he's not. It's morning – _early_ morning. He shouldn't even but up yet. He'd barely be asleep any other morning. Instead he stands at my door, worse for wear.

"Train's refueling soon," he says. He doesn't ask, but I know he wants me to follow him. I slip through the door, closing it behind me so he doesn't see Peeta in my bed. Sure enough, the train begins to slow and we find our way on the track opposite a service station. We drag our feet through a grassy patch, morning dew soaking our pants. I don't say anything, I just stare at him. He doesn't say anything either.

"So you knew?" I finally ask. He nods. "And you're a part of it? This… resistance or whatever it is?" He nods again.

We're quiet.

"Were you going to tell us?" I finally say, sharper than it should be, but I don't care.

"I don't know," he says. At least he's being honest for once. I turn away from him and start walking back to the train. "Katniss," he calls out. My feet pause. He never calls me Katniss. It's always sweetheart or hey you or some other pretend pet name that sounds sweeter than it truly is. I turn around slowly. "I just was trying to look out for you. They have an agenda. And using you… I agree with the end game, but I don't have to like how they want to get there. Sometimes they get so lost in the big picture they forget these are real people's lives they are gambling with. I don't…" The words trail off.

"You don't what?" I snap.

"If you lost that little girl, and your mom, and everyone else… I don't want you to turn into me. I wanted more than that for you," he says. Haymitch finally meets my eye. He's not looking for pity or comfort. He doesn't sound pathetic, even if the words are. His tone is defiant. Protective even. "I want better for you."

Haymitch knows what it's like to lose everyone and everything you love. I don't know what I'd do if I came home and my family was dead. I think I'd retreat inside myself and never come out. I'd never be able to live with it, knowing it was done because of something _I_ did. Something stupid.

"I'm not saying you don't have a choice. And I'm not trying to make that choice for you. I told Plutarch to back off until he had a plan to keep your lil sis safe. That's all," Haymitch says.

"Okay," I answer. It's not forgiveness. Maybe just acceptance. I start to walk away again, but one thing is nagging my brain. "Haymitch?" I say, turning back around.

"Yeah?"

"Is there a way? To keep her safe?" My voice sounds smaller than I want it to.

"Not if she stays in District Twelve," Haymitch replies. I try to consider this. If I want Prim safe from Snow, I need to get her out of 12.

"Okay," I respond.

"I'm working on it," he offers lamely.

"So in the meantime?"

"Stick to the cards," Haymitch says.

"Right," I reply, feeling dejected.

I go back to the train alone. Haymitch stands on the tracks and kicks dirt around. I can't waste my time feeling bad for him. He has seen me struggle with Snow and never once mentioned there was any alternative other than appeasement. He may think he's protecting me, but all he's doing is making it harder. He's just shrinking the circle of people I can trust.

Still. Watching him worry about Prim does burrow him a little deeper into my heart.

I pull myself onto the train and head back to my room. I find it empty. I get dressed and head to the dining car.

"Well you are up early!" Effie tweets. Peeta is already sitting at the table sipping on a cup of black coffee. He gives me a half smile. Effie mistakes my disinterest in all things tour-related as laziness. Peeta is her star pupil. "Sit sit! We have so much to go over!" She covers the table between us with pamphlets and photographs of the upcoming stop. "Now, District Three!"

Effie goes on for a while. The train starts moving. I wonder if Haymitch is back on board. He doesn't come to breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner. Peeta hardly has to sneak to my room that night. It's like the train is empty.

The next morning I have a fitting with Cinna for the District 3 banquet. I'm not mad at him like I am at Haymitch, which I guess is sort of hypocritical. The pale man mentioned Cinna by name. Cinna wanted me to know about the resistance. He wanted to give me a choice. Haymitch wanted to treat me like some kind of child who is too stubborn or stupid to make her own decisions.

As he slides the dress over my body, Cinna smiles softly.

"I heard you gave Finnick a run for his money," Cinna comments, winking at me as he adjusts the waist of the dress, a flash of gold glinting from his eyeliner. It's a euphemism. By Finnick he means the resistance. I didn't walk into that meeting and act like the poster child they were all expecting. I'm not anyone's mascot. They weren't prepared to answer questions, just to give orders.

"I think he underestimated me," I answer coolly.

"I think you underestimate yourself," Cinna responds seriously. He's always had the sureness about him, this confidence in me that I've never had in myself.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"I just mean… you shouldn't wait for what you want, Katniss. You have the power to take it," he says. I watch his face.

 _Don't wait for them to save Prim. Save her yourself. Don't wait for them to resist. Resist yourself. Find your own path._

"Finnick does," he adds for the listening devices. He's more clever than the Capitol realizes.

"Right," I say, lifting my arms as he takes in the seam. "Thank you," I add quietly.

 _Thank you for telling me. For not keeping me in the dark. For believing in me._ None of these are words I can say aloud, but he knows.

I notice Cinna's fingers running an impossibly thin wire in between two layers of fabric in the skirt of the dress – shifting it, sliding it into place. His brow remains furrowed until he seems satisfied, then his face smooths to the relaxed, cool look I've grown used to.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Making you glow," he responds, shutting off the light. The cabin is plunged into darkness until Cinna pushes a small button on the hem of my sleeve. The dress below me lights up. The fabric itself is nearly translucent. The wire travels through the dress as if it were veins underneath skin, glowing like the wire inside a lightbulb. The light radiates and ebbs, pulsing unpredictably. It's soft, beautiful… I feel weightless.

"It reminds me of a firefly," I whisper.

Cinna lets out a light laugh. "I was going for something technological looking… like fiber optics." Another tribute outfit to honor another district. District 3 is the technology district. They build computers and hospital equipment and weapons. Anything a technical mind can dream, they can create. And so Cinna dreamed up a dress that glows.

"I think it's beautiful," I respond.

"Good," he says, the corner of his lips rising. "That's all that matters."

I find District 3 to be a mess of contradictions. They were once one of the richest districts in the nation and it shows. Everything is modern and new. It feels like they live in a different time than the rest of us, where indoor plumbing is still an innovative luxury. But the people… that's a different story. They try to hide it with the Tour in town, but the gaunt faces, the threadbare clothes... They cower whenever a Peacekeeper approaches, clearly trained to expect pain and misery. I'm not stupid. They are being punished for the sins of their ancestors, just like we are with the Hunger Games each year. District 3 was the first to rebel. District 3 fell the hardest, except for 13, which was wiped to oblivion. The people of District 3 feel the cruelty of the Capitol more acutely than the rest of us. They are "kept in line."

We give our speeches to an obedient crowd. Snow will be pleased, I think, but I'm not sure if that's good or bad anymore. It keeps Prim safe for longer – that's all I care about. We dress for dinner, but before we are escorted to the banquet, Peeta and I are taken on a tour of one of the computer labs followed by a crowd of eager, probing press. The District 3 representative, a female scientist with ashen skin and a crisp white lab coat, shows off different bits of technology for the cameras – music boxes no bigger than a speck of dust, contact lens that change your eye color with your mood, flavored edible water bubbles that sit in your hand and can be eaten like candy, devices that run on wireless electricity transmitted through the air.

"I've seen that before," Peeta says. "It has a battery in it, right?"

"Oh no!" the scientist says, and then she goes into a long explanation that I stopped understanding two words in.

Outside the window of the lab, there's a wide field that stretches out as far as I can see.

"What's this?" I ask curiously, staring through the glass door.

"It's a testing range. For items with yet-to-be quantified inertia or force," the woman responds. It looks like a meadow to me. The rest of our party turns back the way they came, but I open the door that leads out to the field. I half expect an alarm to sound but instead I'm greeted by a rush of cool night air. My lungs feel free. I grab Peeta's hand and we slip outside into the night – away from that sterile room with its sterile air and sterile people.

We walk quietly into the darkness, waiting for someone to follow but no one does.

It's quiet out here. I remember this morning. There's comfort in nothingness.

"Stars are the same," Peeta says, interrupting my absence of thought.

"Hm?"

"Everywhere we go, the stars are the same," he says. "It's… comforting. Like I'm not too far from home." My eyes drift upward and I lose myself in the vast expanse of space. I don't watch the night sky anymore. It makes me sad. It reminds me of my father.

"See that?" I ask, finger toward the sky. "That's Orion. He's a hunter, like my dad." I point out the stars that make up his bow, the belt, the shape of him – abstract and perfect all at the same time.

"See that?" Peeta points at another constellation. "That's a spoon," he adds. It makes sense the baker learns about a spoon and I learn about a huntsman.

"That's not a spoon, it's a bear," I answer playfully. "See? Orion's bow is pointed to it."

"What? No. That's a spoon. Look at it, Katniss," he says, drawing the ladle and the stem with his fingers. "What's that supposed to be, his tail?" Peeta laughs. I guess it does look more like a spoon than a bear, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. Peeta's voice drops low. "How are you?" he asks, aware that we have a rare moment away from the microphones.

"I don't know. You?" I ask.

"I feel useless," Peeta says. "Do you think they're buying it?" he asks, gesturing to the lab technicians from District 3 who gawk at us through the glass door.

"I think so?" I say, keenly aware we are being observed. Maybe we are just another set of lab rats to them. We watch as one of the press zooms in with a long lens that probably makes them feel like they are standing right next to us.

"You look beautiful, by the way," he says. I shift uncomfortably, like I do at all compliments. "So what's the plan for the next few districts?"

"Stick with the cards and please Snow," I offer. Peeta nods, disappointed but understanding. I'm not the only one that feels like my hands are tied. Like I could do more, be more. Like I could help. "And maybe let the districts know we are on their side," I whisper, pressing the button on my dress. It lights up in the middle of the dark night. We can hear the distant oohs and aahs from the reporters across the field. I imagine long scope lenses zooming in. Peeta's eyes open wide. I can just make out his face through the warm glow of the dress. His smile is undeniable.

"You look…" For once the wordsmith is speechless. Peeta steps forward and presses his mouth to mine softly. It's insatiably slow, like he never wants our lips to part, but my heart aches a little when I realize he's doing this to benefit the cameras. To sell the love story.

It's easier with a partner, though.

I'm telling the districts they are not alone.

Peeta is telling me I'm not alone either.


	28. Chapter 28 - Peeta

The final two Career districts are indistinguishable to me, except for the guilt I feel in District 2. I walk through the streets where Cato grew up and my shoes feel like they are full of lead. During the parade the crowd throws flowers and trinkets and I wonder why they aren't throwing garbage. In general, the people from these districts look different. Taller. Wider shoulders, longer arms. Generations of nutrition will do that. Our speeches are met by enthusiastic cheers in support of the Capitol. In District 1 I notice many of the little girls wearing their hair knotted in braids like Katniss's. I turn and watch her swallow hard. I can almost taste the vomit in my own throat. She hates this. She doesn't want to be a role model, not that kind anyway.

"You okay?" I ask, my eyes trained on hers. They're always on her. Our skin is dusted with gold in honor of the luxury district. I think Katniss hopes that maybe, if she stands still enough, they'll mistake her for a statue and leave her alone. She shakes her head slightly. I want to reach for her, but I know that's not what she needs right now. She needs to hold onto this stony exterior for as long as she can.

I don't feel like we accomplish anything in the Career districts. These people already believe our love story. They'll gobble up whatever propaganda the Capitol feeds them. Still, we dance and kiss and spin and laugh. We try to make Snow believe us. We play for the cameras, for the other districts that might doubt Katniss's motivations. No one ever seems to doubt I'm in love with her. Maybe it's because I'm not faking it like she is.

I think it's all for nothing until one of the last dances in District 1. It's late. Katniss is practically sleeping on my shoulder as we sway back and forth slowly. It's moments like this I like to pretend things are normal between us. That we're back home dancing to a fiddle at the Harvest Festival. That when we're done dancing, I'll carry Prim home while Katniss watches me quietly, a belly full of cider slowing her movements to a stroll. Prim will tell me she loves me, like she does to Katniss every night. Like I'm really her big brother now. Like I have a real family. I pretend we live in a world where I can watch her grown up. A world where Prim can just live her life and no one will care.

It's when I'm lost in these thoughts that I catch the eye of a man from across the room. He's watching Katniss and me dance. He looks sad, like he's seen too much. He sort of reminds me of Haymitch, if Haymitch weren't a messy drunk. We meet eyes and he nods.

He's not happy for us – the winners of the 74th Hunger Games. He knows what we are.

We are survivors.

It's not a look I'm used to seeing in the Career districts, and I realize that we are making a dent. These people aren't as mindlessly obedient as we're lead to believe. Maybe they are wearing a mask, too. Maybe it doesn't feel or look like rebellion, but we are changing people.

I look at Katniss and try to recapture that fantasy, where she's safe and Prim's safe and none of this matters, but it's gone. No one is safe. I don't want to die, but I will if I have to. I will, without hesitation, for any of the Everdeen girls. I made myself a promise. They always come first. I hold Katniss a little tighter. She must think it's for the cameras because she presses her lips to my throat before closing her eyes again.

Back on the train the sound of Effie's clapping hands makes my head hurt. I regret the champagne I had earlier. Katniss leans heavily on my arm. I watch as the adults all head down to the lounge car. I walk Katniss to her room, sliding the door open slowly. She complains a bit as I lay her on the bed, the gown of jewels digging into her skin.

"Sit up, let me get the zipper," I order gently, and she grumbles a bit as she pulls herself up. It takes me a second to locate the hidden closure, and when I slide it down it's like letting air out of a balloon. I watch as Katniss takes a deep breath, grateful to be free from the restrictive garment. I grab her hands and pull her to her feet. "Come on, just for a second," I say as the dress falls to the floor and she stumbles out of it before dropping back to the bed and closing her eyes. I can't tell if she's just overtired or if it's the liquor. Probably both.

I find a hanger in the closet and fumble a bit trying to hang the dress. My head is still cloudy from the alcohol. I should have known better. Katniss is already asleep on the bed, the silk undergarment of her evening gown now serving the role of pajamas. Her hair will be a rat's nest in the morning if she sleeps in it. I'll never forget the impressive string of cuss words she strung together after she slept in her hair from District 2. I had to go get Flavius after wrestling a pair of scissors from her hand. I head to the bathroom, running a washcloth under warm water and grabbing the hairbrush from the sink.

Back in bed, Katniss swats at me when I try to wake her up.

"Here, wipe your mug off," I say playfully. She runs the washcloth over her face and an entire rainbow of jewel-tone colors stains the fabric. I force her to drink a glass of water and chug one myself before I begin pulling the pins from her hair. Her head droops sleepily. I keep my fingers busy with the job at hand and not the length of bare skin exposed down her back. It takes a while before I'm confident there aren't any pins left. Her fingers are too tired to manage a braid, so Katniss just ties her hair in a knot on the top of her head and drops back into bed. I return to the bathroom to deposit the fistful of hairpins on the counter and put the washcloth in the hamper.

She barely spoke to Haymitch tonight. Katniss said he apologized, sort of, and that he thinks he's protecting her. I have to bite my tongue when she rails on him for being a liar. I don't see a huge difference between what Haymitch is doing to Katniss and what Katniss does to all of us – me (although not so much anymore), Prim, Gale, her mother. She's not the most forthcoming person, but it comes from a good place.

She wants to protect everyone.

She doesn't want anyone protecting her.

I can't seem to garner the same resentment for Haymitch. I'm sure one day she'll hate me, too, but neither he nor I are stepping back from watching after the girl on fire.

"Peeta…." I hear her mumble. I lean my head out the door.

"Yeah? What do you need?"

"Come to bed," she murmurs.

 _Me_. She needs _me_. Don't leave. Come to bed. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears and I take a deep breath. Don't read too much into this.

Normally I'd head back to my room. Wait for the train to be asleep before I came back for the night. But she looks so soft and I'm so tired. I strip out of my suit and fold it into a pile before setting it on a chair. I don't have any sleep clothes here, just my tee shirt and boxers. I feel kind of exposed, especially with Katniss sleeping in that silk thing that is practically translucent. I take a deep breath and crawl in bed beside her, careful to keep some distance between us. She finds my hand under the sheet and knots her fingers in mine before she truly sleeps. I watch her for a moment, her face still. It's the only time she ever looks peaceful – when she's fallen asleep but before she starts dreaming. There's the happy few minutes where she looks like nothing is wrong.

I doze off. Drunken dreams are strange and fleeting. Everything seems surreal and uncomfortably strange, but the moment I come to they're gone. The bed beside me is empty. I shoot up and startle Katniss, who is standing in the doorway to the bathroom. It's not entirely dark, but it's not light out yet either. The soft glow from the bathroom pours over Katniss's body and I have to stare at my hands to keep from losing it.

"Sorry, I didn't think I'd wake you up. Water?" she asks. I nod and she pads across the room, sitting beside me in bed and handing me the glass. I bring it to my lips tentatively. "My head is pounding," she confesses. I return the empty glass and Katniss sets it on the bathroom counter before shutting off the light and creeping carefully through the dark until she hits the bed with her knee.

"At least we're done with all the new places," I say as she settles back in place. I can hear her hair brush against the pillow case as she nods in agreement. All that's left is familiar turf – the Capitol and home. I think we are both trying to minimize it, but the closer we get to the Capitol, the more nervous we get. We'll know soon, whether we did enough. I leave her when she's still asleep and waste an hour in my room so we can arrive at breakfast separately.

Katniss and I nurse our coffees. Neither of us attempt food. Haymitch watches us with a smirk on his face, taking the opportunity to make conversation that is too loud for this early in the morning. I hear him mutter something about sweet revenge to Effie before he meanders off to do whatever it is he wastes his days doing. We'll be in the Capitol in a few, short hours. Effie talks us through our itinerary for the next few days. I pay detailed attention because I know Katniss won't. We'll be busy. A welcoming parade. Appearances with sponsors and Gamemakers. Commercial shoots for businesses with our faces on their product labels. What Effie describes as a "red carpet event," although she doesn't pause to tell us what that means. I'm excited when she mentions we are visiting the National Art Gallery, although from her schedule it looks more like a photo op and I doubt we'll even make it inside.

"The festivities close with a feast at the Presidential Mansion. It is _the_ event of the year. Anyone who is anyone will be in attendance. Even the president himself!" she tweets.

So that's it. That's when we'll know. I look over and the bored look has slipped from Katniss's face. She nods stoically.

"As you can imagine, Cinna and Portia have been working for months on the wardrobe for the Capitol events! You'll need to report to them immediately following breakfast for any last minute alterations. Chop chop!" Effie harps.

Squeezing into the tight, Capitol-pleasing pants Portia has designed for me is about the last thing in the world I want to do right now, but the way Katniss is turning green I think she may have it worse. I refill her cup and we carry our mugs down the hallway to the garment car. I'm in there about an hour before Portia dismisses me. Katniss is only in her third dress. I wave at her when I reach the door.

"Traitor," she murmurs under her breath.

"Sorry," I whisper back, trying to bury a grin and failing dreadfully. She looks miserable. I can't help but laugh and she scowls at me, but I know it's not sincere. I've had enough real scowls from that girl to know a fake one when I see it.

I head down to the kitchen car and find the crew packing up. I spend time down here when no one else is looking for me. I wasn't actually in the mood to bake this morning, it's just comfortable being somewhere easy. I get out of their way, heading to my room. I open my window but it's raining and cold outside, so I shut it again before my room gets damp. I sit with my sketchpad but my lingering headache doesn't let me focus on anything. I pack my things so I'm ready to leave when we arrive in the Capitol before heading to the lounge car. I grab a blanket, curl up on the couch, and put on a movie. It's hard to follow. There are too many characters and it's not easy to keep track of who's who from one scene to the next because their hair and makeup changes so dramatically. Eventually I just close my eyes and listen to the rain pounding on the roof of the train.

I wake up to the sound of a plate sliding onto the side table. I open my eyes blearily and find Katniss sitting on the floor, eating half a sandwich.

"Here," she says, offering me the other half. I sit up and rub my eyes before taking a bite.

"Thanks," I mumble. "Where are we?"

"Effie says we're going to be there in an hour. There's supposed to be a big hubbub, too. Champagne and confetti and stuff."

At the word champagne my stomach turns. I watch Katniss as she chews slowly, lost in her head.

"If you want I can give the arrival speech," I offer. She swallows and looks up at me.

"Yeah. Thanks," she murmurs. "Here, you can have this. I have to go pack." She puts the half sandwich on the plate, minus one bite, and stands on her feet. "See you in a bit."

I'd follow her but she doesn't want me to. I've learned when Katniss wants company and when she wants to be alone. Even though my stomach is still growling, I wrap her half of the sandwich in a napkin. We leave the train promptly after we arrive at the station. I give the speech and kiss Katniss's cheek. She blushes and flits her eyelashes and acts like all the other girls at school. I've never been interested in that. I want Katniss – moody, smart, brave, quiet, thoughtful, sullen, protective, compassionate Katniss. I want the _real_ parts.

Inside the Tribute Center she gets really quiet. I can't help it, but I hold my breath until we are on the elevator. It's eerily empty, except for the staff. This building used to be overwhelmed with mentors and stylists and prep teams and escorts. There are no children, no tributes anymore. They're all dead. It's just us now. I feel Katniss churning beside me – angry, guilty, and vengeful.

When we arrive in our suite Katniss storms upstairs and slams the door to her room. Effie tisks and Haymitch drags her out of the suite by her elbow. I look up at Katniss's door and climb the stairs. I give a gentle knock before I open it slightly.

I've never actually been in Katniss's room. Before the Games she didn't trust me. After the Games they kept us apart until our interviews. I was kept in the hospital every night for "observation." Unless we were in front of the cameras, I hardly saw Katniss at all until the train ride home.

"Hey," I say. Katniss is sitting on the bed, staring at the wall. She's absolutely silent, but her head is such a mess of thoughts it's like I can hear them screaming. "Your room looks just like mine," I offer, trying to distract her. She doesn't say anything. I don't push. I just sit. I'm here if she needs. That's all I can do.

"Wanna see my room?" I ask.

"Yeah, okay," she says after a while. I grab my suitcase and we go the few steps down the hall. I open the door to my room and she laughs. I turn around, surprised.

"It looks _exactly_ like my room," she answers. They are literally identical. Our houses in Victor's Village, while they have the same layout, have subtle differences. Furnishing. Paint. Floors. With these two rooms, if I was brought into them blindfolded I don't know that I'd be able to tell them apart, and I lived a week of my life here.

"Well, we wouldn't want one tribute to have an advantage over the other," I respond teasingly, unzipping the suitcase on my bed and placing the folded clothes in drawers. Katniss watches me. Whatever sparse moments of _real_ talking we had on the train tracks are gone. We can expect every inch of this space to be bugged. "Do you want to unpack?" I ask, though I know it's stupid. Katniss doesn't unpack. She doesn't even fold. For as much time as she spends distracting herself cleaning her home in 12, on the Tour she's lost all sense of caring. I think wrinkly clothes are her private rebellion against Effie.

We get ready to leave for the handful of events Effie has planned for us this evening. We're bounced from place to place. The more people we see, the grumpier Katniss becomes. The Capitolites treat us like toys. They touch our hair, our clothes. I nearly slug a man who takes Katniss's waist, but the look she gives me tells me she'll break his arm herself if need be. When we pile into the car after the last event, Katniss drops her head back in relief.

"I have a surprise for you," I say, and pull the half sandwich out of my pocket.

Her eyes grow wide. I think she says thank you but I can't tell through the mouth of chicken. It dramatically improves her mood, though, so I consider it a win. Haymitch and Effie escort us as far as the elevators and we head up to the suite alone. It's weird being in this building when it's empty. I don't imagine this was an accident. Snow put us here on purpose, to remind us of how he killed every one of these kids. How he'll kill us, too, if he wants.

In the kitchen of our suite we pull all the food from the cabinets – canned soup and cookies and crackers and milk. We eat until we feel like we are going to explode and head up to bed. At the top of the stairs we linger for a minute.

"It's weird," Katniss says. I look at her. It's all weird. "Not having to sneak around. It's weird."

"Yeah," I answer. "I'm gonna go shower. Want me to come over after?"

I don't even finish the sentence before she says yes. I can't help but smile. I try to wipe it off my face. She always freezes up when I get too caught up in the moment.

"Okay, I'll see you in a bit," I say, heading back to my room. In the shower I stare at all the different dials and knobs and for a moment it's the night before the Games, when I stood paralyzed in this shower so long my skin stopped recognizing the water was hot. I remember shivering in a room full of steam, trying to prepare myself to die.

I shake the thought from my head and take a deep breath before I step under the water. Steam fills the air, fogging the glass walls of the shower. I let the water run over me. I hold air in my lungs until I feel like I'm drowning and then greedily gulp down breaths until I'm not dizzy anymore. That's when I hear the door open.

"Katniss?" I ask. It's too foggy for me to see.

"Yeah. Um, can I stay here with you?" she asks quietly. I can't put a name to her tone. Some kind of mix of sad and worried and tired. I'm not the only one who feels weird in this place.

"Yeah," I say. I hate that there's the wall between us. I can't even see her. I just want to close my arms around her and I can't. I watch the blur of her shape through the glass as she moves closer to the shower. My pulse is hammering so hard I can feel it in my wrists. Her palm presses to the glass. I raise my hand up and press mine on the other side. We stand there for a minute, two, three maybe.

"Tell me about growing up in Town," she says so softly I barely hear it over the water.

"What do you want to know?" I ask.

"Did you really have electric toys?" she says.

I laugh a little. "No, nothing like that. I think some of the merchant kids just said that to make the Seam kids jealous. The only toy I had growing up was a wooden airplane my dad got for my birthday one year, which Rye broke a week later." I pause for a moment. "It's not so different from growing up in the Seam, I don't think," I respond. I wait for her to scoff. If I could see her face, I'd expect an eye roll. Instead I hear nothing. "It's easier, yes. But I think it looks different from the outside. We have rough times, too, it's just that some of the merchants are too proud to show it. When I was a kid, there was this one week when I didn't see my dad eat anything. Not anything. He told us he ate when he was setting up the shop, but I'd look at Bannock's inventory and nothing'd be missing." I can tell she's processing. "The problems are all still the same in Town as they are in the Seam, it's just different starving in a house full of food you can't eat."

She's still quiet. I wonder if I should have said any of that, with the listening devices and all.

I reach over and shut the water off and the room dips into total silence. I can hear the thud in my ears, the blood rushing through my veins. Her hand slides away from the glass.

When I come out she's already under the covers in my bed. I'll never get over the sight of her at night, in those soft quiet moments where I can hope what we have is real. But then I drop down beside her and she kisses my shoulder like it's the easiest thing in the world, and I can't help but think maybe I don't need to hope anymore.

Maybe it's real for her too.


	29. Chapter 29 - Nothing's Changed

We've been in the Capitol for days. I try to focus on the different events but my mind keeps slipping back to District 1. We're done with families now. Still. I killed both of their tributes and they cheered for me like I was some kind of hero. The scenes play over and over in my head. It's what I was trying to forget last night and the night before and the night before that, whenever I close my eyes. It's what I'm still trying to forget now.

"Katniss?"

"Huh?" I look up and see the camera, Peeta posed with his arm around my waist.

"Smile," he whispers through his own. I paste on a fake, toothy smile and the camera flashes.

"Alright, you two! That's a wrap. Next on our itinerary is a tour of the Presidential Palace!" Effie harps. My stomach drops. "You won't see the president himself, of course, but they wanted some shots of you two on the grounds before the party tomorrow night. Once we finish up there, it's a short dinner break, prep, and then we are off for our interview with Caesar!"

She says everything like it's the most exciting thing that could possibly happen. I can't ever read Effie. I'm not sure if she's putting on a show or she's actually happy. I tend to think she is being genuine most of the time. Naively genuine.

My mouth feels like all of the spit has evaporated as we walk through the tall double doors at the entrance to the Presidential Mansion. I know we aren't meeting with Snow today, but he's here, somewhere near. We spend too much time in the lobby, posing with assorted statues and paintings and blinking spots from our eyes when the photographers shoot an unexpected candid. Peeta spends a long time staring at a painting on the wall – some oceanic scene.

"Hey," I say quietly. He shoots me a brief smile and returns to the painting.

"Look at the way the brush strokes form the waves – this one swirls and this one is spins. It's like the whole canvas is moving. I bet watching this person paint is like watching someone dance." He breathes in awe. Leave it to Peeta to find the beauty in this awful place. But that's something he's always been able to do. Something he even sees in me, even though I've never seen it in myself – the beauty in the awful.

We're brought upstairs and deposited in some conference room while Effie and the camera crew go to set up for the next part of the shoot. Even this business area is ornate – swirling crown molding, gilded chairs. Nothing in the palace is plain. There's a bowl of fruit on a table against the wall, but the fruit is made from sparkling crystal. I think how just one grape could feed a family in the Seam for half a year. When I look up Peeta is fiddling with a TV in the corner.

"What are you doing?" I ask, crossing over to him.

"I want to see the coverage so far. See if there's anything we need to brush up on," he answers. This is something Peeta and Haymitch do together frequently that I just ignore. They'll watch the news reports, analyze how we look and what we say, listen to the commentary and see where we need to improve. The screen flashes on, but instead of a bright, neon-haired Capitol reporter, the image is of a district square burning. It's utter chaos. People running, bullets firing in all directions, dead bodies in the street – Peacekeeper and citizen alike. Above the square is a banner bearing our faces, leftover from the Victory Tour stop. Fire chases up the pole before the edges of the banner are engulfed. I know this place. It's District 8.

"Shit," Peeta swears, hammering the buttons until the screen goes black.

We weren't supposed to see that.

We stare at each other in disbelief. We didn't do anything wrong in 8. We did everything exactly right.

"Children! We're ready!" Effie announces as she re-enters the room in a flourish. We spin around guiltily, cheeks flushed and bodies stiff, but she doesn't seem to notice. We follow her stoically. Peeta grabs my hand and grasps it tight. Our bodies are positioned in front of different scenery in the mansion. We smile, we kiss, we try to be perfect. We try to be _enough_.

We are absolutely terrified.

The rest of the day is a blur. I can't focus, I can't think. We sit in the Tribute Center with dinner plates in front of us and I just stare. I can feel Haymitch's eyes boring into me.

"You should eat, sweetheart. Not gonna get another chance tonight," Haymitch says.

"I don't feel well," I respond mechanically, which results in a shrill overreaction from Effie. She insists I go lie down, take my temperature, followed possibly by a blood transfusion. Haymitch talks her down and eventually she settles on delaying the prep team an extra half hour. Effie steps outside to make the arrangements and the three victors of District 12 are left alone.

Haymitch looks at me. He knows I can't say anything, not here. But he knows something is very wrong.

"I think Peeta should propose tonight," I say, my eyes glued to my plate. I can't see their reactions. No one makes a sound.

"Okay," Peeta finally says, his voice distant.

"Peeta-"

"I said okay," he repeats. Peeta takes his napkin from his lap, places it on his plate, and walks up to his room. I go to stand but Haymitch puts his hand on my shoulder.

"Don't. The kid needs some time alone," Haymitch orders.

"I thought this is want he wanted anyway," I grumble without thinking, but I feel guilty the moment the words are out of my mouth and grateful Peeta wasn't here to hear them. Haymitch stares at me.

"Not like this. He wanted it to be real," Haymitch says before he gets up from the table and walks out the door. It's the most like a parent he's ever felt. He's certainly got the disappointed look down pat. I stare up the stairs at Peeta's door. I think Haymitch is right. Peeta wants to be alone. I go to my room instead.

I wonder what my mother will think of the engagement. My sister. Gale. But then my mind shifts to Peeta's family. I can't help but smile when I imagine his mother losing her mind. That might be the only good thing to come of this. That and saving Prim's life.

I wonder if Mr. Mellark will be happy.

I wonder if Peeta will be.

I stare at the wall joining our two rooms. I cross the room and sit with my back against the wall. It's as close to Peeta as I think I should get and as far as I'm willing to be.

When we arrive backstage, Haymitch presses a small, velvet box into Peeta's hand. They exchange a few quiet words. Peeta nods curtly and shoves the box in his pocket. Peeta hasn't looked at me since we got here. Haymitch takes the stage and we hear the crowd applaud and cheer. Haymitch has always been a favorite among the Capitol. What District 12 sees as grouchy and smelly and drunk, they see as clownish and silly and entertaining. Haymitch uses it to his advantage, manipulating them without notice. Peeta watches our mentor.

"Peeta," I whisper, but his eyes are glued on stage.

"It's not fair to be mad at me," I spit out.

"I'm not mad at you," he responds.

"Well it seems like –"

"I'm not mad at you," he repeats, refusing to face me.

"You can't even look at me," I insist. "I thought we were on the same page. Whatever it takes…" I don't say the rest of the sentence out loud. Whatever it takes to save our sister.

"We are," Peeta says harshly. "We are on the same page," he repeats, but softer this time. "But I didn't want to hurt you to do it. I will propose, I'll do this, but I'm not stupid. I know you never want to get married. And I know… whatever it is that's going on between us… It's not permanent. It's not the foundation of a lifetime together. You don't want that. And it's making me sick to do this to you when I know it's not what you'd choose. I feel like I'm forcing myself on you. I'm–" He finally meets my eyes and I've never seen him look so sincere. "I am so sorry, Katniss."

I feel like I've swallowed a stone because I can't breathe or talk or swallow or forms words.

The audience claps wildly as Haymitch wraps up his interview. It slams me out of Peeta's words and back here, in reality. The backstage area comes to life with the transition – cast and crew alike moving around us like a blur. Peeta and I stand there, staring at each other, not touching, eyes locked, frozen like a statue in the middle of a hectic square. The world around us is chaotic and loud but it feels like it's a million miles from us.

"I'm sorry," he says again. He knows me. He really, truly knows me. He's not just my district partner or my confidant or even my best friend. He knows me in a way no one has. In a way I've never let anyone know me.

"Just breathe," I whisper, but before he can say anything his prep team is dragging him away from me, making some last minute adjustments to his hair and makeup before we go on stage. I see Octavia and Venia descend, primping and preening, but we keep locking eyes from across the room, until our chins are forced toward makeup brushes and powder.

We hear Caesar's booming voice and Peeta flashes me one last look before he takes the stage. I make my entrance, as planned, and the audience loses it when Peeta dips me in for a kiss. We play the game. The audience gobbles it out of our hands. I think of District 8 and the people lying dead on the ground. I try even harder. When Peeta takes a knee and flashes a shining diamond, I act like the swooning schoolgirl I'm supposed to be. Caesar carefully choreographs the interview. I'm not sure if he knows, if he's in on it, if he's been ordered to sell our love story, but by the end of the interview I feel like maybe, for once, we did it right.

"Nice job, kids," Haymitch whispers as he claps our shoulders, joining us on stage. He turns to lead us off when suddenly the crowd goes from ecstatic to hysterical. A syrupy sweet scent drips across the stage like a fog descending down a mountain. My body freezes. I can feel him here – before I see his face or hear his voice - he's here. President Snow waves to the audience as he takes the stage and nods to a camera.

I envision punching him in the face with my obnoxiously gigantic ring. I imagine his blood on the stone, getting under the prongs. I imagine killing him here and now, and all of this finally being over.

Instead, I smile brightly and act star struck.

The president makes a joke about my mother being displeased with the engagement. The audience laughs and I pretend to laugh along, but even hearing her name in his mouth makes me want to strangle him with the silk kerchief wrapped around his thin, winding throat.

"Maybe this one won't call it off," Snow winks at Peeta as they banter back and forth. The audience claps and cheers. Snow offers us congratulations. When he shakes my hand he gives me a look that almost reads as approval, but I quickly realize it's not for me. He's pleased with himself, with the control he has over me.

On the car ride back, Haymitch tells us it was a good night. He repeats it over and over, trying to make it sink in.

"This was exactly what you needed going into the celebrations tomorrow," he reassures us. We sit in the car for a while, even after it's stopped at the entrance to the Tribute Center, idling in place. I can't process anymore tonight. I try to shove it from my brain.

"Night," I say as I pull myself from the car. I don't wait to hear Haymitch say it back.

We head inside the Tribute Center. I remove the unbearable heels Effie insisted I wear and carry them in my hand. The tile floor is cold against my feet, but at this point I'd rather be cold than unsteady. We ride the elevator in silence.

"It was good. I think Haymitch is right. I think it was good," Peeta says. I nod. We walk into our suite. Peeta stops in the kitchen and pours a tall glass of water and drinks. He hands me the glass and I finish it, setting it in the sink. We head upstairs to our rooms. Lingering at the top of the steps, I replay tonight's events over and over in my mind. Was it enough?

"Are you hungry? You didn't eat," Peeta asks. He stands next to me - giving me space, giving me time, giving me _him_ if I want. This battle is not being fought alone.

I try to calm myself down. I need to focus. We have one more day here. One more day to convince Snow. I have enough fire and fury fuming inside me to scorch the earth, but when I look at Peeta's face – calm, caring, curious – I know I'm not alone. Peeta is good. He so inherently, undeniably good. At first it made me feel inferior, but now it grounds me. He grounds me. He knows who I am and he loves me anyway. He doesn't love an idea of me. He doesn't love the pretty girl my prep team turns me into. He loves the way I make my sister laugh. That I'm smart. He loves the scorched earth, fierce, angry parts of me, too.

He thinks I'm worth it. He makes me feel like maybe I am.

I think back to his words before we took the stage.

 _It's making me sick to do this to you when I know it's not what you'd choose._ _I'm so sorry, Katniss._

He's not sad for himself – handcuffed to a girl that will never love him back. He was sad for me.

"You okay?" Peeta asks, breaking me from my thoughts. I look up and see the gentle concern on his face, the encouraging gaze.

"I love you." The words slip out of my mouth so softly I'm not sure Peeta could even hear them over the pounding of my pulse in me ear.

"What? Did you just tell me you loved me?"

"Yes," I answer.

"Thanks, Katniss. But you don't have to say that just to make me feel better," he says lightly, shifting his weight. "You don't owe me that. You don't owe me anything."

I step forward and swallow. Peeta stares at me and he realizes I'm not kidding. He doesn't dare move or breathe or blink because he might wake up, because the moment might not be real. His eyes drop to mine. I look back at him, refusing to break even though everything in my head and heart and skin is telling me to run. My feet stay planted on the ground. Peeta's hand reaches up and he gently tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.

I love him.

"I love you, too," he says.

I perch on my toes and bring my lips to his. The kiss is soft. Tentative. Things are different between us. We're engaged, yes, but that's a lie. We both know it. What's different is the truth. It changes things. It brings a certainty. Clarity. But neither of us know how to kiss when this is what it means. We're careful at first. Gentle. Quiet. Peeta's hand slides back into my hair and I whimper slightly against his lips. It's like a flood gate opens.

We crash together, slamming back against the door. I reach for the knob, twisting until it gives way. I don't even know whose room we're in as I stumble backwards, Peeta's steady arm on my lower back keeping me from toppling to the floor. He's still wearing his suit from earlier and my fingers move clumsily to unknot his tie as he lifts me effortlessly. We drop onto the bed, pulling and wanting and loving each other. The uncomfortably large diamond on my left hand clangs noisily against Peeta's belt buckle as I fumble trying to unstrap it. Peeta's hands drop to mine, slides the ring from my finger, and throws it across the room, not even bothering to look where it lands. In some way, it's the most perfect thing he's ever done.

His lips break from a kiss into a smile and our teeth bump as we both start to laugh. He sits up and leans back on his knees.

"I'll find it. Sorry, I'll find it," he says with a smile, tripping on his loose pants as he pulls himself from the bed. I lean over and turn on the light. The scene is very exposing. Peeta's tie is hanging loose around his neck, his shirt untucked and his fingers sliding closed the button on his pants. The strap from my dress is slung off my shoulder and my skin still feels like it's burning from Peeta's lips on my skin.

"Here. Easy," Peeta says, taking the ring from the floor and show-offishly sliding it back on my finger. He kneels in front of me on the floor, his blonde eyelashes focused on my hand. The air in the room pauses as if the space itself is holding its breath.

"I promise to keep you safe. You and your family," Peeta whispers. "This marriage, it doesn't have to be real. But I want you to know that, for me, it is a promise."

I remember watching him sleeping on the train home from our Games. I made a promise to him, too. I think we made vows to one another a long time ago. But when you mean it, vows don't need to be sworn aloud.

"Bed?" he says. I nod. He gives me a half grin, leaning up and kissing my forehead before standing.

Everything else is routine. We brush our teeth. We slip into night clothes. Peeta opens a window before dropping into bed.

Nothing's changed.

But everything is different.

And for once, that doesn't scare me.


	30. Chapter 30 - Good Morning

"Morning," Peeta says quietly, the room lit by the soft, cool glow of an early sun. I smile and bury my face in his chest, trying to block out the day. "You slept really well," he whispers, stroking the top of my head with his thumb.

I did. I can feel it in my bones. I don't think I've slept like that since I was a kid.

"No nightmares," I say back, my voice still a little raspy from the morning.

"Really?" Peeta says, not able to mask the unabashed happiness in his voice.

"Yeah," I reply. Last night was the easiest night of my life. No cold sweats. No raw throat. No shaking and clawing at the sheets and thrashing until the sheets are torn and the bed is stripped bare.

"I blame you," I whisper before covering my head with a pillow and slipping back to sleep. When I wake up an hour later, Peeta is sitting up in bed with his sketchpad propped on his lap.

I take the pad of paper and place it on his night stand. Peeta looks up at me to protest but I crawl into his lap instead, a knee on either side of his hips. Everything about him is warm and comforting, but it makes my stomach whirl to be close to him. Peeta smiles widely.

"What are you doing?" he says through the impenetrable grin.

"Thanking you for helping me sleep," I respond back, dropping my mouth to his throat. I gently kiss his neck, my lips lighter than a feather across his skin. I hear him inhale slightly. His hands reach my waist and his fingers dig into me as he tries to keep himself grounded. I don't really know what I'm doing, so I let my mouth wander. My lips travel up where I can feel his pulse hammering. I kiss the corner of his jaw. I linger on his earlobe, worrying it gently with my teeth, and Peeta moans softly and I feel his body react underneath me. "Thank you," I breathe into his ear.

"Katniss," Peeta pants out. I relax my body so my hips drop into his and he tries to muffle a sound in his throat. I push our hips together and I can feel him eager beneath me. Peeta bites his lip and tries to remain in control of his body, but when I repeat the motion he bucks up into me. "Oh my god," he breathes, his head dropping back against the headboard as he squeezes his eyes shut. I feel it too. It's like my body is humming, and when I roll myself over the heat where our bodies meet, it rushes through to my stomach, my legs, my fingertips – this buzzing, tingling feeling. My head drops to his shoulder and I let out a shaky breath.

In one quick motion, Peeta takes my waist and presses me back into the bed, hovering over me. For a moment I'm lost in the feel of his hands as they slide under my shirt and up my back. His mouth meets the skin of my neck and his hips drop between my legs. He pushes himself forward and presses himself against that spot he so carefully navigated with his fingertips the other night. It feels good, so impossibly good. The noise from my mouth is louder than I expect it to be and Peeta pulls away from my throat, a smile across his face.

"Again?" he asks softly. I nod and he moves his body forward again, coaxing the ache between my legs. My body coats with sweat and I try not to overreact, but when he finds a rhythm my knees drop. I feel him against me over and over and over until my back arches and my hands cling to the sheets. I grab his hips with my hands and pull him into me harder, and when he thrusts forward my fingers dig into him as my body lifts from the bed and presses itself against his chest. I need more. I need so much more of him.

I press my hand to his chest and Peeta sits back, an apology on his lips until he sees the look in my eyes. "Off," I whisper as I tug at his tee shirt. Peeta lifts his arms and I pull it over his head. His eyes grow wide as his fingertips run the hem of mine. I bite my lip and begin to lift the shirt, but his hands still my own.

"Can I?" he asks softly. I nod and lift my hands. His hands take the seam and he lifts gently, as if he's unwrapping a gift and trying not tear the delicate paper. When he pulls the shirt over my shoulders, my hair falls softly on my skin.

I know I'm not very pretty. I'm too thin. I don't curve like some of the girls in school do. I'm plain. But when Peeta takes in my chest, I feel like the most beautiful person that has ever existed. His hands ghost up my legs and across my stomach.

"I want to touch you," he confesses.

"Me too," I answer as I climb into his lap. I wrap my legs around his waist Peeta tentatively slides his fingertips along my ribs. I circle my hips and rub myself against him. A sound I didn't know I could make escapes my mouth and Peeta's eyes open wide at me. He slides his hand up my chest until his fingertips gingerly run across the swell of my breast. I move my hips, slower this time, and a ragged breath escapes his throat as he sweeps his thumb across my dusky peak. I exhale as Peeta does it again, if slower this time, as if he's trying to focus on the feel of my tip slide past his thumb.

My legs start to tremble around him and Peeta props himself up on his knees before lowering my down in front of him again. He kisses my jaw as he massages my chest. When I whimper his mouth moves down until he's closed his lips over my nipple. I feel like I'm on fire, like heat is sweeping every bit of me. His tongue is tentative at first, but then he gets excited and ravishes my body. My hands drops and I brush against his length as it presses into his shorts. I feel Peeta react under my fingertips and he makes a choking sound as he bites his lip and pulls his hips away from me.

"Wait," he manages, blowing a deep breath through his lips. "You just… you have me wound so tight. And I don't want this to end."

A twinge of disappointment twists my stomach, but it's quickly erased when his mouth returns to my skin. His tongue kneads gently until my nipple pebbles at his will. His hand slowly drifts down my body and my stomach whirls under his touch. When he reaches the hem of my underwear he stops and looks at me pensively. I nod and he slips his hand inside.

A rush of heat overwhelms my body and I try not to shake. Peeta's fingers explore, sliding gently along my curves as he watches my face for a reaction. I thought the thin fabric of my underwear hardly made a difference the last time, but as he touches me now I am dizzy with want. It's soothing and teasing all at the same time. Peeta looks at me like he still can't quite believe this is real. When his fingers drift over that spot again, I muffle a gasp. Peeta repeats the motion slowly, teasing the spot until he's sure he's got it right. I can't stay still, I can't _not_ move with this light coursing through me. I push back up into his hand and he rubs me firmer and faster.

"Can I touch you inside?" he asks as his mouth drops to neck. I have no idea what I'm doing so I just nod. Peeta's other hand slides against me and I'm so sensitive I wonder how much more my body will let me handle. Peeta's fingertips run tenderly between my legs and I feel his body shaking against mine.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Yeah, I just… You are beautiful like this," he manages, kissing my mouth softly. My lips are swollen against his and my skin is flushed. He kisses me again as he slides a finger into me. I break the kiss as I gasp.

"Peeta," I pant, and something about his name in my mouth invigorates him because he begins pumping his finger in and out as his other hand rubs me. It feels like tension, like when I pull the string of my bow taut. I want to watch his face, I want him to lead me through this, but I'm so overwhelmed I squeeze my eyes shut as I let go. It overcomes me, pulsing through my body like a wave. Without thinking I reach out and find him beside me. I slide my hand into his shorts and the intensity running across my body crescendos at the feel of him. He's so hot he practically burns my hand, and I barely touch him before his body tightens and everything is sultry and wet.

"Oh my god," he gasps as his hips buck, but he keeps moving his hands against me, pushing me through until the last wave of heat releases from my body and I collapse shapeless against the bed. We lie there trying to catch our breath, our hands still cupping one another – too sensitive to move and too sensitive to stay. "You didn't have to do that," he whispers, feeling guilty over the mess in my hands.

"It's supposed to be messy," I answer. Our entire relationship has been messy, it seems that loving him should be messy, too. Even thinking the word sends a course of panic through my veins, but for once I refuse to let it win. We kiss for a while and eventually doze off, sticky and happy. I few hours later I wake up and shower. Peeta makes breakfast, I clean up the dishes. I waste a couple hours reading while Peeta flips through the news coverage – pausing, rewinding, taking notes in his sketchpad.

It makes our beautiful morning seem like it's a million miles away.

"I think tonight we should try to show off the ring as much as possible. Like maybe at one point during the feast, you can pretend to wipe something off my face with your left hand when you notice a camera?" Peeta looks up at me. "Katniss?"

"Yeah, okay," I nod. He seems satisfied and goes back to scribbling in his notebook. This all comes so easy to him. I have to be coached to look like a creature in love.

Except that I am now. I have been for a long time. Why is it so hard for me to fake?

Because I built a wall around myself. It's hard enough to bust it down when it's just the two of us, but I'm a fiercely private person.

"What are you thinking?" Peeta asks. I must look like I'm lost in my head.

"Just about tonight. I want to make sure I get it right. It's our last chance," I answer.

"We still have home, too. There are events in District Twelve," Peeta offers. That's right. The Victory Tours ends in 12. It's one thing to lie to strangers – it's another entirely to lie to your own people. Peeta can tell his statement didn't help any. "You're going to do great," he says encouragingly.

My prep team arrives and Peeta is expelled from the suite. They primp and preen and chatter incessantly about the event tonight. I wonder if they even breathe. They certainly don't have time. They are debating whether they should wear matching ensembles at the event for tomorrow.

"It's good for the brand," Octavia insists as she files my nails faster and faster. "Oh dear!" she shrieks when she looks down and realizes she's nearly sawed the whole thing off. "Let me get the acrylic!"

Great. Now I'll have ridiculous nails for weeks.

As the colors begin to come out, I notice reds and blacks and smoke. I expected to be dressed as the young, blushing girl about to be married, but instead they are painting me up like smoldering coal. When Cinna enters the room, he has a large garment bag over his shoulder. The prep team is dismissed.

"I have a present for you, girl on fire," he says coolly.

What he has is a warning shot.

We've played your game, Snow.

Don't make me fight back. You won't like it if I fight back.


	31. Chapter 31 - Mine

The dress has a different tone that the others I've worn on the Victory Tour. Aside from the dresses in honor of the other districts, everything I've worn has been careful – girlish even. It's almost as if Cinna was trying to reinforce my youth, trying to make me appear modest and unimposing. I hadn't put much thought into what I wore until the dress honoring District 4. But now, as I see this dress draped before me, I know every cut of the fabric, every line and dart is a choice.

The black dress is long with a small train that trails behind on the floor. It's draped in a way that makes it slink from my hips. There is a slit that runs up one leg, but instead of being bare the opening is lined with sheer black lace. It's almost more risqué that way – hinting at what undergarments might lie beneath. The neckline plunges low, and across the bodice and peeking onto my exposed chest are black, shiny feathers. The burst of color comes at the shoulders, where Cinna has crafted two shoulder decorations that lay flat against my skin. They are made from feathers – black at the root and then gradating to fiery red tips.

This isn't the dress of a compliant young girl. This is the dress of a fearless woman.

It's a shot across the bow.

It's a warning to Snow. I've done what you've wanted. Don't forget what I'm capable of when I don't.

My mind churns rapidly as I digest the dress. Cinna watches my face carefully.

"I have a backup. I wanted you to choose what to wear tonight," he says gently.

"What would you choose?" I say back.

"I always choose you, girl on fire," Cinna replies with a contagious kind of confidence. I open my mouth to answer but Cinna interrupts me by squeezing my hand. _Stop. Think about it._ He' s not looking to make this choice for me.

What do I want?

"I'm not feeling well. I'll be right back," I excuse myself. I step into the hall and look down over the railing to find Haymitch sitting on the couch in the living area, watching television. "Haymitch," I bellow down. He looks up at me and I disappear into my suite. After a moment Haymitch walks through the door. He nods at Cinna and then takes in the dress. This is why I asked him here.

"Come on, sweetheart," he says, and I get confused as he leads me into the bathroom. "You probably just need a shower."

"But I already got my make-up…" I don't finish the sentence before Haymitch looks at me like I'm an idiot. Oh. Haymitch closes the bathroom door. I turn around and put the water in the shower on full blast. He does the same with the sinks. The raucous of the water makes it nearly impossible to hear as he whispers fervently at me.

"That dress says something, Katniss," Haymitch acknowledges.

"I know… I just… I'm not sure…" I ramble.

"What do _you_ want?" he asks. He waits, but I don't respond right away. I chew the inside of my cheek as I think.

"I want to say… I've done what you've asked. Leave my family alone or you get the other side of me," I answer.

"Do you think that's what that dress says?" Haymitch prompts. I think about its fiery red feathers. The shoulders look like armor almost, like a shield. It says _I'll fight you if I have to. Don't push me too far._

"Yes," I answer.

"Me too," Haymitch says. "Look, Katniss. You've played his game. You've been the polite, lovestruck girl. Walking in like that will garner one of two responses – he'll back off or he'll strike back. Are you sure which way he'll land?"

"When we were on stage… This is going to sound stupid," I grumble.

"What?" Haymitch pushes, his eyes locked with mine. He knows. We talk without words all the time – in the Games, with our looks, across a room. Haymitch can read me. I can read Snow.

"It wasn't enough. Everything we've been doing – it hasn't been enough. Snow looked like he was pleased with himself, but not with me. I think…" I take a deep breath. "I think I need to do something."

"Be careful," he responds. I can't tell if he agrees with me or not, but he's with me. He's always with me. I leave Haymitch in the bathroom with all the water running. When I get back to my room Cinna is no longer alone. Peeta stands there with Portia next to him. When I enter they all look up at me, waiting. Portia and Peeta have had the same meeting. Peeta is following my lead.

"Let's do it," I say.

When we enter the Presidential Mansion that evening, I can hardly believe my eyes. I know that the gasps and awwws we hear are about us, but I'm taken away by the spectacle of the feast. There are clouds that glitter and sparkle, hovering just a few feet above the heads of the partygoers. There is an ice sculpture of a maned giant cat that seems to be moving, which I can't make sense of. There are tables upon tables upon tables of food with fountains of drink served in shining crystal goblets. But the people…

I've seen them dressed for parades and in the audience at Caesar's shows, but I've never seen the lengths Capitolites will go to for a ball. The colors are nearly blinding. There are people with feathers for eyelashes that shoot out inches from their faces. There are people whose eyes light up like laser beams and I wonder how they see anything at all. There's pink hair and blue skin and green finger nails, not a single shade seems natural or real. One woman has a corset on so tight I think I could wrap my hands around her waist and my fingers would overlap on her back. She must have had some kind of surgery to remove some ribs because it's entirely freakish looking. A man walks by with jewels weaved into his facial hair and it sort of reminds me of when Haymitch gets crumbs stuck on his face after he hasn't shaved for a few days. It's not just their looks either – the competing smells wafting from each patron nearly make me heave onto the floor.

"This must be what a circus is…" Peeta mutters under his breath as we enter, although Effie catches his remark and looks mortally offended. We're both sort of confused. Seems like a circus to me.

"A circus is another word for a freak show," Portia explains, a little too curtly. Frankly I don't see the difference, but Peeta looks bathed in remorse.

"I'm sorry, Effie, I didn't know. I've never been to a circus," he apologies sincerely. She seems placated and claps his cheek lightly.

"You're a good boy, Peeta Mellark. I know you'd never intentionally be hurtful," she says, shooting a disapproving look my way as I try to look contrite and fail miserably.

I lose my focus on hating everything the moment the first bite of food crosses my lips. It's some kind of tart with squash that melts on my tongue.

"I want to try everything," I breathe, eyes wide. Peeta laughs as I load our plate with item after item. He waves a hand in defeat when I try to stuff a piece of bacon-wrapped asparagus in his mouth.

"I can't do it, though," I can complain, not wanting my unfinished food to go to waste.

"I'll bust, Katniss. I can't eat anymore," Peeta responds, clapping a hand over his mouth as I try to shove it in. We're laughing and play-fighting when a camera flashes next to us.

I freeze in place, suddenly remembering that the world is not a gay, happy place. "Katniss," Peeta tries to call me back quietly, but my hands drop to my sides. It's as if I've been thrust out of my body, as if I'm watching myself from above, like I'm one of the shimmering artificial clouds. I take in the girl below, with her fiery dress and a look of terror on her face. The girl who has tried everything to save her sister, even if a nation burns because of it. I don't even recognize myself in her. She didn't choose this path, but she watches who it crosses. I don't look the part Snow wanted me to play with my blazing dress and dangerous eyes. But I don't look like the part I wanted to play either.

"Katniss," I hear Peeta whisper but it's as if he's a million miles away. I can't make my way back to my body. I can't feel anything. It's like I'm numb. Peeta steps forward and presses his forehead to mine unexpectedly. My breath catches in my throat as I feel him anchor me, pulling me back in. _Stick with me. We're almost done. You don't have to give them anything real._

"There you are," he whispers as I mouth _thanks_.

Peeta steps back and the crowd claps and cheers at the romance of it all. I put the mask back on, brushing my lips with the fingertips of my left hand, flashing my diamond ring for the press. Another flash! flash! flash! and Effie escorts us across the room.

"Katniss, my dear, you've been requested," she says with an excited hum in her voice. Peeta follows immediately behind us, but when we reach the entrance to the mansion a half dozen Peacekeepers step forward and block Effie and Peeta from following me inside. "This is unheard of! I'm her escort!" Effie screeches, but my eyes lock with Peeta. The guards step forward defensively as Peeta pushes toward me. I watch as one shoves Peeta back forcefully and another grabs his arm.

"It's okay!" I cry out, and the struggle stops. Peeta looks at me. "It's okay," I repeat calmly. "I'll only be a minute."

I turn and walk away evenly. I can feel Peeta's eyes boring into my back but I keep walking forward, head held high. I find my way simply by following the trail of armed guards. I ascend the marble staircase that comes off the center of the empty ballroom. It leads to a corridor full of closed doors, which I follow until I find him at the end of the hall, standing on a small balcony, watching the crowd clandestinely from above.

President Snow.

"Miss Everdeen, I didn't expect to see you quite so soon," he says without turning around. He takes a sip from a thin cocktail glass before placing it on the stone railing that overlooks the people below.

"Me either," I answer honestly. I try to keep my voice even, my mind calm.

Neither of us say anything for a while. Eventually I join him on the balcony. The people below us look small. Insignificant.

 _"I like insignificant,"_ Peeta's voice rings in my ears.

It's the president who finally breaks the silence.

"I believe you, Miss Everdeen," he says to me. "I believe you are in love with that boy." It's the words I had been hoping to hear, but something about his tone is keeping my reaction tempered. This doesn't feel like a victory. "I expect, when the Victory Tour concludes, the two of you will keep up the united call for peace," the president insists.

Peace, for Snow, translates to submission. I feel myself pushing back, fighting, resisting. I did his bidding on the Tour. I don't know how much more of it I can take. I try to bury the thought, but it's as though he can read my mind, as if he can feel my internal struggle as if it were playing out like a movie on a screen.

"Have you ever broken a horse, Miss Everdeen?" the president says with a slick composure that makes my hair stand on end. "No, of course you haven't. They're not much for equestrianism out in the districts, are they?" The words slip from his tongue as he watches me for a reaction. I refuse to give him one. "Horses don't want to obey. There's a natural streak of independence that runs through them. A horse has to be taught to submit." President Snow removes the handkerchief from his pocket and pats the corner of his mouth. "You have to break their spirit," he adds, the word _break_ exploding percussively from his mouth like the snap of a bone while the rest of his words remain measured and cool. "There's a moment, just before stallion surrenders – where they have one last show of defiance." His eyes run over my dress – the threatening color, the menacing curves. The statement did not go unnoticed. My last act of defiance. "In that moment, you have to show a horse that they have no control at all. You have to show them that there is no hope in fighting back. That's when you finally win. That's when they finally surrender."

I go to speak but Snow takes his glass and sips from it before returning it to the railing.

"They're better for it. Happier. It's easier to exist once you know your place," the president slithers.

"That's an easy thing for the horseman to say. You've never asked the horse," I respond. He swallows purposefully. No one talks back to him. I almost think he'd like it, if it weren't for the stakes involved.

"It would be a shame," Snow starts. A pit in my stomach opens. He's baiting me, refusing to move forward until I play his little game. He's addressing the threat.

"What?" I ask. I can't help myself.

"It would be a shame to lose Mr. Mellark right after you'd finally confessed your love."

I feel like I'm falling through the floor. My mind races through the million ways he could rip Peeta away from me. I've been so focused on Prim and Gale and my mother I haven't stopped to worry about what was right in front of me.

"For a moment I wondered if that declaration of love had really been for me, not him," Snow adds with a snarling smile. I realize he'd already heard my confession, the one I made to Peeta in the dark of the hallway in our suite. I know my cheeks flush and I curse biology. I want to say something but my tongue feels dry and I can't swallow.

Snow's beady eyes shift from me to Peeta. He's surrounded by a crowd of men and women. Peeta is trying to be cordial as their sticky, needy hands run over his arms, his chest. They laugh playfully, as if it's all just good fun, but the levity is a ruse. They are territorial. They are possessive. Peeta's eyes shoot nervously back to the door where I left when a man takes his chin and turns Peeta's face back toward him.

"I could send you back to District Twelve alone. Peeta could stay in the Capitol. He'd do it, if he thought he was protecting you. That foolish boy would cut off his other leg if he thought it would keep you safe."

I realize what Snow is saying. Peeta is his to own, to give away as he pleases. Haymitch explained this to me, one cold night on the tracks between Districts 4 and 3. He told me who the rebels were. He told me about Finnick Odair.

"You'd jeopardize the love story," I manage.

"I can be discreet," Snow says with such a casual tone you'd think he was discussing sugar in his coffee and not prostituting a teen boy simply as a show of power. "He's in town making wedding arrangements. Buying you something nice to surprise you at the train station. Think of the views your reunion would draw."

"What do you want?" I ask, my voice dark with anger.

"What do I want?" Snow asks as if amused. He finally turns to face me. "I want the districts to remember their place. I want their victors to remember I was generous enough to let each and every one of you live. I want restoration."

We stare at each other. I hate that he can read me, but I wonder if he hates that I can read him too, because there's one truth that sits between us that he wishes to hide.

I've got him on the defensive.

It's working.

"You will go downstairs and you will fawn over that boy. Every camera should be met with a gleaming smile. You may think you are a clever girl, Miss Everdeen, but you are playing with fire," Snow says coolly, but I can see through him now. I am not playing with fire. I am the fire.

"I will," I answer in the most pacifying tone I can muster.

"Good," he answers, He lets a small hint of desperation creep out, but he snatches it back before it goes anywhere. Snow takes his glass from the railing and walks down the long hall, his shiny shoes clicking on the stone floor before he disappears behind one of the identical doors.

No one dismisses me but I go out the way I came in. I try not to run, but everything in my body is telling me to get to Peeta. When I find him downstairs I wrap my arms protectively around his neck. The crowd of slippery Capitolites disperses with disappointed clicks and clucks.

"Hey," he says softly, his arms wrapping around my waist. "You okay?"

I don't have to answer. Peeta knows. He is mine to protect. Mine to keep safe.

Mine.

Snow makes his appearance, finally, toasting our engagement before disappearing inside while his guests marvel over his mysterious and charming ways. The night is growing old and my head hurts. I want to get out of here. I want to rip this stupid dress from my body and tear it to pieces. I'm eyeing the clock on the wall when a pale, chubby hands lands on my shoulder.

"May I have this dance?"

I turn around and find I'm face to face with the Head Gamemaker. Rebel. Spy.

Plutarch Heavensbee.

 **A/N: Hey my loves. I'm sorry for the long wait. I hate to report that things will be slow for a bit. Work is absolutely crazy. I'm not exaggerating when I say last Friday night I worked 32.5 hours with no break or sleep. I'm hoping things relax soon, but in the meantime know I'm thinking of you and will do my best to get these chapters out. I'm not abandoning you!**


	32. Chapter 32 - Making a Difference

I can feel Peeta's eyes on me as Plutarch leads me to the dance floor. I try to hide the shudder as he places his hand on my lower back, pulling me into a fairly standard dancing position that in this moment feels all too formal and intimate at the same time.

I know he's a spy. I _know_ that. But I also he's here tonight in his role as Head Gamemaker. I know he is actively planning how to murder children. That he likely had influence over the pitfalls that took out the other tributes in my Arena. Did he dream up the Mutts monsters with the eyes of the fallen? Did he dream up fire balls and poison berries? What hellish ideas are scheming in his mind for the Arena that may well greet my sister? Acid rain? Steam that melts your skin off? This is what haunts my dreams at night, and he's making them into a reality.

I'm nearly silent as we move around the dancefloor, more swaying side to side than following any choreographed dance moves like the other Capitolites are. Plutarch asks about the engagement. I think I hear myself answer. I close my eyes and picture Peeta and me during our dance lessons on the train, Effie's voice clicking _one two three, one two three,_ as she clapped out a rhythm. Peeta's false leg crushing my foot. _One two three, one two three._ That moment of pain seems better than Plutarch's hand on the slight of my back.

"You seem distracted, Miss Everdeen," Plutarch intimates.

"Not distracted. Just… aware," I answer back. Plutarch smirks at my candor. We're not stupid. We know there are intrusive cameras and microphones everywhere. We can't spend our time talking about the rebellion – whether they are happy with me, what he wants me to do next. He must be thrilled with my dress.

"Well, I must confess I'm distracted. We have a planning meeting for the upcoming Games tonight, if you can believe it. In fact," he pauses, dropping his arms from me and fishing a watch from his pocket. "It starts at midnight," he tells me as he checks the time, but when his pale finger slides across the glass face, a mockingjay flashes across the glass. He watches me carefully. What is he trying to tell me that he can't say with microphones floating on every tray and bubble?

"That's a beautiful watch," I mutter, still transfixed with its face. I watch as the wings fade first, then the rest of the bird until I'm staring at what appears to be a plain watch, except it's not so plain. Spreading from the center are a bunch of lines ending in tiny circles, almost like a geometric-looking sunburst. There are twelve long ones that almost reach the hours and twelve smaller ones that bisect each space. "I…" The word falls out of my mouth as the map fades away, too. _Map?_ Where did that come from?

"Good night, Miss Everdeen," Plutarch says as his hands drop away. I hear applause and realize the song is ending.

"Good night," I answer back, but he's already gone.

"Alright, children, say your goodbyes," Effie harps as she sweeps her two victors of us back together.

"Shouldn't we thank President Snow?" Peeta asks, his gaze shifting back to the mansion.

"I've already made all the appropriate arrangements, don't fret!" she twitters back. For once her annoyingly precise punctuality and adhesion to decorum isn't bothering me at all. I want out of here. Our exit from the party comes with almost as much fanfare as our entrance, with an announcement and a flourish of trumpets as we depart. My ears are still ringing when we board the train. I'm disrobed by my prep team – the dress carefully extracted and delivered to the garment car. I pull what feels like a thousand pins from my hair and I wonder how I managed to hold my head up straight. There's a quiet knock on the door and I open it to find Peeta standing in the hall.

"You're too early, Effie's going to know you were here," I chastise him.

"I don't care," Peeta answers, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around me. We stand that way for a while. "You looked amazing today," he says with his mouth turned toward my neck. "One of the sponsors from last year told me you looked _fearsome_. Her words, not mine. She said District Twelve might be a contender after all."

I don't know what emotion that should garner. Should I be happy? Our tributes will have a better chance at survival with generous sponsors. It doesn't make me happy, though. It doesn't make me feel anything but numb. I don't know how to be a mentor, especially if Prim ends up with her name between Effie's fingers again. I've already decided I can't let that happen. The rebellion didn't come up with a plan. I'm on my own. I look at Peeta as he crosses the room and sets a glass of water on my nightstand. _We're_ on our own.

I don't know how to tell Peeta about Snow's threat. It will be at least a day before our next service stop. Peeta looks at me though, his eyes pale in the half-light of the bedroom. Did we do enough? Did we convince Snow? I don't know how to answer him, but Snow isn't happy so I just shake my head no. Peeta's jaw locks. He looks stoic but I can feel his mind churning.

"Come on, let's go to bed," he says softly, squeezing my hand. I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and Peeta sits on top of the covers, his fingers aimlessly knotting and unknotting the string on his pajama pants. When I come out of the bathroom he smiles at me. "We'll figure this out, Katniss."

He's unfailingly optimistic. He's too good a person to be trapped in the middle of all this. Sometimes I think I should just cut him loose. Let him find someone with a more open heart. Sure, we'd play up the marriage when the cameras were around, but most of the year he'd be left alone. He could be with someone kind, someone who he could lean on. But after tonight, after seeing those sponsors with their hands all over him, after hearing Snow threaten to sell him off like livestock… The idea of Peeta with anyone else makes me sick.

I feel possessive.

I drop into bed beside him and I pull myself so I'm on top of him, my knees on either side of his waist. I suckle his throat, nipping his skin with my teeth. Peeta sighs and my hand claps over his mouth. I draw my lips to his ear.

"You can't make a sound," I whisper, remembering there are listening devices everywhere. This isn't for anyone else. This is for me, for Peeta. Peeta nods knowingly and bites his lip as I run my hand over his stomach and dip my fingers below the waistband of his pants. Peeta exhales with a pant and squeezes his eyes shut tight. He wants to say something, wants to touch me, but instead he knots his hands in the sheets of my bed as I stroke him slowly. He can't do anything except try to be silent.

I feel powerful. I feel in control. For once in this chaotic world, I am in charge.

I move my hand faster, firmer, and Peeta's breathing becomes short as he tries to discipline his body.

"Katniss, I –" He looks at me desperately and I press my mouth to his as he comes against my lips. I feel a moan buzzing on my mouth and I swallow it as his body trembles beneath me. Everything feels wet and I still my hand as he drops back to the bed, panting.

"What was that for?" he asks, staring at me with a grin so wide I think he might break his face.

"Me," I answer.

The next service stop, I tell Haymitch and Peeta everything. I can't look at Peeta while I recount what Snow said. He looks pale as he tries to digest the news.

"What did he say, exactly?" Peeta asks.

"He said…" I close my eyes and I feel like I'm with Snow on that balcony again. I should have just pushed him off and been done with it. I'm so stupid.

"Katniss?"

"He said you would do it if you thought you were protecting me," I say out loud. Peeta doesn't argue and it makes my stomach hurt.

"What's the plan, Haymitch? The rebel plan?" I ask.

"They are waiting for the right moment," he answers.

"Could you be more cryptic?" I retort, exacerbated.

"I wish I had more for you, sweetheart, but the rebels are being very careful about what information they pass to me, assuming it will ultimately get to you," Haymitch responds.

"So they looped me in and now they're trying to keep me in the dark?" I spit back. He shrugs his shoulders.

"When they need you, you'll know," is all he can offer me.

"I'm starting to wonder if we need them," I grumble, heading back to the train.

That night Peeta doesn't eat dinner. He goes to bed really early, closing all the blinds and forcing the day to end. I sit in bed beside him, reading a book by the dim light from the bathroom. The words on the page all seem to blur together and eventually I resign myself to staring at the ceiling instead. When Peeta jolts awake from a nightmare he spends nearly an hour in the shower scrubbing his skin until it's irritated and pink. I don't know what to do so I sit on the floor of the bathroom in case he wants to talk. He doesn't.

When we arrive in District 12 I'm overwhelmed by the welcoming. I remember our reception after the Games, how the crowd almost felt like there was a line running down the middle – Seam on one side and Merchants on the other. Now they all seem mixed together, coal black hair and olive skin mixed with fair-haired, blue-eyed people. I try to understand what broke down the walls between them, and I realize maybe seeing us on Tour showing Panem that we are one nation reminded those at home that we are on district.

Maybe we are making a difference.

Maybe it is time to push back. I look at Haymitch and he nods at me knowingly. Peeta squeezes my hand tight.

Three victors against the world.

It's a start.

 **A/N: I had an interview at a new job on Friday so everyone send me the good vibes! Thank you all for being so patient with me. This is a short chapter but good news is the next one is almost done so it should be up really soon.**


	33. Chapter 33 - Gale

"You aren't dressed."

Madge is sitting on the kitchen floor, the contents from under the sink removed and methodically stacked beside her. She's scrubbing inside the cabinet, the cloth in her hand nearly as black as coal. I don't know anyone's ever cleaned under there. I don't know that it needed to be cleaned.

"What are you talking about?" Madge asks, pulling her head out from under the sink and tucking a piece of blonde hair behind her ear. There's an inky smudge on her wrist from the grime. She doesn't react.

"It's hunting day," I say, my voice hinting at a tone I can't quite place. Disappointment? I shake it from head.

"Isn't Katniss hunting with you?" she asks plainly. I imagine there's a trace of jealousy there, but when I look at her face I can't find any. She's very matter-of-fact. It's one of the best things about her.

"Yeah, but –"

I don't even get the sentence out before she returns to her project under the sink.

"Madge," I start and her hand pauses.

"You have Katniss. I'm no longer needed," she says, assessing the situation practically.

"You could come if you want," I offer. Madge pauses, considering the suggestion. She wordlessly turns back to scrubbing the cabinet. She's right. She's no longer needed.

But she's wanted.

"I want you to come," I finally say. Madge has taught me to be more direct. She's not elusive like Katniss is. She says what's on her mind. She wants everyone else to do the same.

"I think you need time with Katniss," she responds, her crystal blue eyes on mine. "You missed her while she was gone. And she looked miserable when she got off the train yesterday. I think she needs her friend right now. I think she needs something normal. You can give her that. All I'd do is make her clam up."

She's right. Madge is always right.

"Okay," I say, grabbing my jacket. It's grown threadbare. The hike to the woods today will be bitterly cold. I pour a thermos full of hot coffee and cinch it off tight before throwing it in my hunting bag. I pause at the front door and turn back to Madge. Her entire torso is under the sink now, her head craning to inspect her work.

"Bye," I say.

"Bye," she calls back, her voice echoing in the cabinet.

It's cold. It's brutally, bitterly cold. I shove my hands in my pockets and try to keep them warm but nothing will stop the bite of dead winter air. I stomp my feet into the ground and try to keep the blood flowing to my toes. I think I'm early but by the time I get to our meeting spot, Katniss is already perched on the ledge of a rock, her legs swinging. She's wrapped in a warm coat with fur around the collar. When she sees me a smile creeps across her face.

"Hey, Catnip," I say, a little winded. It's hard to keep air in your lungs when it hurts to breathe.

"Hey," she smiles back. "I brought you a present." Katniss slides from the rock and her laced, knee-high boots hit the snow-covered ground. She holds out her hand and offers a pair of leather, fur-lined gloves. My fingers ache just looking at them. "They aren't going to bite," she says, stretching her arm toward me. I take the gloves and slide my frozen fingers inside. It's immediately gratifying. I look up and Katniss seems pleased with herself. "I got your bow," she says, sliding it over my shoulder.

We start walking quietly, but she's not scanning the woods for prey. Katniss watches the ground, lost somewhere in her head.

"What's going on in there?" I ask. She keeps walking, putting as much distance between herself and the fence as she can. We're at least a couple miles in before she slows her pace and looks at me.

"If I asked you to run away, would you?" Katniss asks. Her eyes are wide. They remind me of a doe, dark and cautious and ready to bolt.

"Run where?" I ask. I almost forgot how abstract Katniss can be sometimes. How she never says what she wants; she just dances around the topic and gets mad when you don't follow.

"The woods. Out of District Twelve. Like we used to talk about. If I asked you to run, would you?" she repeats, her eyes not leaving mine.

"With you?" I ask, a little too eager. I'll never be free of that hold she has on me.

"No, I… I'd need to stay," she answers. I deflate a little, but try to hide the disappointment. When we used talk about it, I fantasized about the two of us running away together – away from Panem and all its cruelty. Living in the wilderness. Building a cabin. Living off the land. Finally knowing what freedom felt like. We'd finally be together. That's not what she has in mind at all.

But I'm not sure that's what I want any more either. I have people I couldn't leave behind. In my mind I see Madge kneeling on my kitchen floor this morning, bits of blonde hair hanging in her face and her skin smudged with grime. I'm lost for a moment in the thought of her, and why she just pushed her way into my mind, but I shake it from my head.

Katniss wants me to leave my life behind me.

"So just me? What is this about, Catnip?" I ask.

"Not just you," she says. She digs the toe of her fancy new boots into the snow as she avoids the question. "I'd need you to take Prim," she answers. "You're the only person I know that could keep her alive out here. That would be able to take care of her."

"When? For how long?" I ask. Winter's already here. We'd need months of planning to make this happen. As it is I'm not sure we'd survive a night out here.

"As soon as possible. And… I don't know," she mutters.

"Katniss, what is going on? Tell me," I insist. She meets my gaze.

"Something's coming, Gale. And I'm probably going to do something stupid, and I can't do it if I'm worried about you and Prim," she answers.

"Why are you worried about me?" I shoot back. She's keeping secrets again, like she always has. Katniss wouldn't know forthcoming if it bit her on the chin.

"President Snow… He made a threat against you. He said he'd kill you. And Prim," she manages. I look at her face.

"What are you planning to do, Katniss?" My voice is deadly serious, but she's silent. If she's leading something, if she's _part_ of something, she's not going to tell me. "You realize he will just kill whoever is left, right? I can take Prim, I can run, but that just means he'll kill your mother. Haymitch. Sae. Anyone he thinks will get to you. I can't take them all with me."

Katniss chews the inside of her cheek. She does this when she doesn't know what to do.

"What did Peeta say?" I ask. She stares at me. It's not an answer. "I don't want to run. I want to stay here for whatever stupid thing you are planning to do. If you're pushing back, then you can be sure I'll be right there, pushing back with you."

"A dead man can't push anything," Katniss says back. "I don't…" She gasps and tries to bury her frustration. "I don't have any way to keep her safe, Gale. Even if we don't do anything, Snow will reap her."

"Did he say that?"

Her cheeks flush and she looks like she can barely breathe, like she's choking on a sob she refuses to let out.

"Snow lied to me, made me think there was something I could do to stop it, but he never had any intention of keeping her out of the Arena," Katniss spurts out. "Prim was going to get reaped the second I pulled those berries out. He's going to take her, and there is nothing I can do to stop that!"

I step forward and wrap her in my arms. "Okay, okay," I whisper. "I'll get her out of here. I'll run. I swear."

We stand that way for a long time, until her body stops shaking.

"You should take Posy, too," she says into my chest. Her voice sounds dead. At the thought of Snow touching my little sister, my heart feels encased in ice.

We break apart. Try to hunt. Both of us are too distracted to do much of anything. We try to take out a turkey so we don't return emptyhanded, but our heads are somewhere else and the flock disperses. By the time we reach the fence by the mine it's nearly dark and we have nothing to show for it. Katniss heads back to the village, jaw locked stoically. I head home.

When I enter the house the warmth from the kitchen envelopes me. I've been so cold for so long I'd forgotten what my arms and legs felt like, but I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks now.

"You look like an icicle!" my mother exclaims, cupping her warm hands on my cheeks. "You can't go out there again until we get you a new jacket."

I start to protest, but she's stubborn.

"It was fine. Katniss got me gloves, see?" I say, holding up fur-lined gloves. Rory and Vick rush over, running their hands over the fine leather. As I stare at them, though, they feel less like a gift from Katniss and more like a reminder that the Capitol has its eyes on me. "You guys can have them," I say to the boys, who immediately start arguing over who can wear them to school tomorrow. I don't want them anymore. I don't want anything from the Capitol.

My mother gives me a knowing look and I head upstairs to change. My skin is so cold it's like I can barely feel it as I slide the pants from my legs. It feels unnatural, like I'm dressing a corpse.

Might as well be.

Katniss is foolish to think she can save anyone. If Snow wants me dead, I'm dead.

I just wish I could change something before I go. I want my death to mean something.

I wonder if these are the types of thoughts Katniss had before she went into the Arena. I wonder if that's what Peeta was thinking.

I pass my mother and the kids on the stairs as she marches them up to bed. When I reach the kitchen I find a plate of food set out for me. Madge is at the sink washing a cast iron pan. I sit at the table and eat silently for a couple of minutes.

"Did you make this?" I ask her back.

"Hm?" Madge responds, shutting off the running water.

"Did you make dinner?" I ask. There's a biscuit on my plate. My mom has never made biscuits. I don't think she knows how.

"Oh. Yeah, I did," she answers precisely and turns back to the sink.

"It's good," I offer over the running water.

"Huh?" she asks. I stand up and walk to the sink. I lean over and shut the water off.

"It's good," I say again. This is the closest I've ever stood to Madge. Our bodies are practically touching, our clothes brush against each other like some kind of ambassador for the skin underneath. I clear my throat and step back.

I need to stop getting caught up with the blonde girl.

I hate to admit it, but Madge has become my friend. She's probably my best friend. I don't want to mess that up, like I did with Katniss. She's never given any indication she feels anything more toward me. I don't think I could deal with her being standoffish in my house all day, although I don't see Madge doing that. She'd probably just pretend like it didn't happen. She's too practical.

Still, she's my friend. And I need someone to talk to. Someone with perspective.

"Can we talk?" I ask.

"Sure," she says, putting the dish cloth on the counter. She turns and looks at me expectantly.

"Not here. Um, your place?"

"Okay," she says. She drains the sink and places the last clean dish in the drying rack. She grabs her coat and we head outside into the night. It's just a few brief steps from our door to hers. She unlocks the door with a key and we head inside. I haven't been here since the day we moved her in. Not an item is out of place. It's perfectly clean. I can't tell if it's obsession or boredom. It doesn't look lived in. It doesn't look like a home.

The house is bitterly cold. Madge crosses to the stove and I notice she has hardly any wood.

"Why didn't you say something? I can barter for some wood for you," I state.

"It's fine, I'm hardly here. And once I'm in bed I just sleep with my head under the covers and you barely notice," Madge says. That's ridiculous. I'm getting her wood tomorrow.

I feel stupid. I'm relying on her to take care of my family after I go and she can't even take care of herself.

That's not entirely true, though. She _chooses_ not to take care of herself. As I stare at the empty wood rack, I realize I haven't needed to get more firewood for our house in nearly a week. She's out because she isn't using her wood for her. I think of my threadbare jacket. She understands what, _who_ , is important. _Posy. Vick. Rory._ I look at her. _Me._

"Madge… I'm leaving soon. And when I do, I need you to help look after my mom and my brothers," I state. A quizzical look crosses her face.

"What do you mean _leaving_?" she asks. People don't leave the district. They die. They get reaped. Occasionally the mayor is called to the Capitol. No one leaves.

"I…" I don't know how to explain this. I scratch the back of my head. "Prim is in danger. And I am too, kind of. Katniss thinks it would be safest for Prim if I took her and I got out of here. Her and Posy."

"So what? You're going to go live in the woods in the dead of winter?" she spits out. She looks upset. I don't know where this is coming from.

"I can make it on my own. I can hunt and build a shelter and –"

"You'd have to be an idiot to leave in the middle of the winter. You need months to prepare, to stock food, to build shelter, to plant things…" She's given this a lot of thought, like she'd dreamt of escaping once. What was she running from? "Don't look at me like that," she snips quickly. I didn't realize I was looking at her like anything.

"That would be ideal, yes. But it's no good if the Capitol reaps Prim," I respond. I expect her to tell me to stop with the conspiracy theories, but she doesn't seem to think the idea of the Capitol intentionally reaping Prim is ridiculous at all. We all know the Games can be rigged. Thousands of slips all with one name on them.

"That's months away! You'll die, Gale. You and both those little girls. And then what?" Madge stares at me, her blue eyes eyes digging into me. I turn toward the door and I feel the air in the room change. "You can't just leave!" She'd be screaming if it wouldn't wake the kids next door.

"Why do you care?" I ask, still facing the door. I turn my head slightly. There's nothing but silence. My stomach twists into a million tiny knots as I drop my hand from the door and turn toward her. My heart is slamming so hard in my chest I feel dizzy. Madge is standing in the middle of the room, for once unable to stuff her heart back up her sleeve. I take a step toward her and I realize she's holding her breath. With every inch I move nearer my skin feels like it is on fire. I don't stop moving until I'm right in front of her, until I can practically feel the heat billowing from her skin.

"Why do you care?" I repeat.

"I thought I was an honorary Hawthorne. Doesn't that give me the right to care?" she spits out, but her eyes are welling with tears.

"That's not what this is about," I respond. Katniss would stare at the wall, the floor, bite her cheek, blink away the tears. She doesn't do confrontation. Madge meets my eyes dead on. She's not hiding anything.

"I think it's a coward's way out," she responds.

"I'm not a coward!" I spit back, not moving an inch.

"You're certainly acting like one," she says, pushing past me. She holds open the door for me to leave. "Good night, Gale."

"You don't think I can do it," I react, not moving an inch. She doesn't get to win this. I'm doing the right thing.

"What is your plan, huh? You take Prim, you run to the woods. You… what? Live there forever? Just the three of you and no other people forever?" Madge stares at me for a moment before she shuts the door and walks back toward me.

"I don't know! We'd come back eventually," I answer.

"You can never come back! Not as long as things stay as they are. And instead of fighting for that change, you are running. That doesn't sound like the Gale I know at all," Madge answers. I don't know when she got to know me, but she knows me. It doesn't sound like me. It doesn't feel like me either.

I don't say anything.

"How are you going to feed them?" she asks pointedly.

"I'll hunt. I'll garden," I ramble. I haven't really thought out all the logistics.

"Where will you live? How will you keep them warm and dry?" Madge pushes.

"I can build us a cabin," I answer.

"So you're going to pack and carry tools to build a house while you run away? Or were you just planning on cutting down trees with your bare hands?" she rebuts.

"I –" I don't have a response. Katniss always said we could run off. That we'd make it.

"You can't just run away from something, Gale. You have to be running toward something," she says.

"There's nothing to run to," I answer.

Madge walks forward swiftly and grabs my arm, yanking me out the front door and into the frozen night. She walks until the lights from the Seam are dim behind. Finally, she turns back to me.

"There's District 13."


	34. Chapter 34 - It's Begun

"He's lost," I say, guilt more than evident in my voice. I'm just saying what none of us want to say. Haymitch should have been here a while ago. He's probably fallen down somewhere – drunk and frozen to the winter earth of the woods.

"He's not lost, he's just… Haymitch," Gale insists, as if he knows Haymitch at all. He's just trying to make me feel better but I can't keep the scowl off my face. To Gale, all Haymitch is is the bumbling drunk who fell off the stage at my Reaping, is occasionally seen at the Hob buying liquor, and who spends most of his time locked away in his giant house.

Peeta doesn't say anything. He knows I don't want to be placated. He envelops my hand in his and lets me feel what I need to feel.

We came out to the woods one at a time. Gale first, scouting ahead. Peeta and me an hour later, Haymitch, then Madge soon after. She was supposed to bring up the rear, possibly gathering Haymitch if he needed it, but she didn't see him on the way.

We wait in silence. Gale starts to defeather a turkey he shot while waiting for the rest of our crew, but I put my hand over his to still the movement. At the crunch of a footfall in snow I spin around, arrow nocked in my bow ready to fly.

"Woah there, sweetheart. I thought I was a guest," Haymitch says sarcastically with hands in the air and my arrow pointed at his heart. Relief washes over me. "You have a strange way of showing you're worried," he mutters under his breath as I drop the bow and his arms fall to his side. I step forward and wrap my arms around his neck. It's awkward for both of us and I let go almost instantly, but Haymitch has a stupid smile which barely slips away as he grumbles, "A map would have been helpful." Haymitch kicks his boot against a felled log, trying to free a clump of snow from the laces.

Now that we're all here, we stare expectantly at Madge. Gale called this meeting. He said Madge had information that could keep Prim safe. Haymitch watches her expectantly. "You sure blondie here has something to say?" Haymitch asks, clearing his throat. He's not thrilled our conspiratorial group has expanded beyond the victors.

"I asked Gale to take Prim out of the district," I start. Haymitch scoffs and spits on the ground. Peeta stares at a rock, biting his tongue. He knew I was going to talk to Gale, but he's not happy about it. "She can't stay here," I say to Peeta.

"I know that," he says. We've talked about this. Over and over we've talked about this. He thinks Prim should decide. I think Prim will refuse to leave me, even if it gets her killed.

"This is your plan? Send that little girl to live off roots and pine needles?" Haymitch scoffs.

"The resistance isn't doing anything!" I spit back. "Snow has a hit list. He practically gave it to me! Prim. Gale. Peeta."

At Peeta's name all their eyes dart to him. I haven't told anyone else. Anyone but Peeta.

"It's only a matter of time before he does something. If we're going to fight back, we need them safe first," I insist.

"You don't think I know that?" Haymitch says, his voice colder than the winter air around us. I feel stupid. Better than any of us, Haymitch knows why I need to protect my family.

The residents in District 12 always whispered about what a tragic accident it had been – the fire that burned down Haymitch's childhood home in the dead of night. Haymitch was lucky to have lived in Victor's Village otherwise he'd have died too, people whispered. Then, barely a month later, his girl died falling down the stairs in the Justice Center. She was six months pregnant. I know better now. I am not that naïve. Snow killed his entire family. They killed everyone he'd ever loved.

"They wouldn't be living in the woods, not permanently anyway," Madge interjects calmly. At that, I'm listening.

"What do you mean, Madge?" Peeta asks, a spark of hope in his voice.

"When I lived at home, I used to spend a lot of time in the attic," Madge starts. "The attic runs the entire length of the house, including a space over my father's office. I used to go up there when he had meetings just to hear his voice." Madge clears her throat and straightens her back. I don't think she meant to share that part. "Anyway," she starts again. "They'd have these monthly committee meetings where the mayors from across Panem would provide status reports on their individual districts to the President. Then one of Snow's ministers would include in the briefing and update on the Capitol and…"

"And?" I ask.

"And District Thirteen."

The words hang in the air like fog.

"There is no District Thirteen," I answer.

"That's what they want you to think," Madge replies back. "District Thirteen survived the bombing. I have no idea why they are allowed to exist in isolation from the rest of us, but they are. I don't know much about it. The updates were mostly status quo. No discernable activity from the district below."

"Below?" Peeta asks.

"That's how they also referred to it. _Below_. I think… I think they are underground. I think when the district was bombed, the survivors moved underground," Madge answers.

"Like if we all moved into the mines?" Gale asks skeptically. District 13's industry was graphite mining. They couldn't possibly be sustaining a sizable population in a mine for all these decades.

"No. They've never once talked about mines on the updates. I think that was all a ruse. They have some kind of underground bunker. That's all I know," Madge says. "That and that the Capitol leaves them alone."

"So if we could get Prim to District Thirteen, Snow would have to leave her alone," I state.

"Or he considers it a violation of whatever agreement was brokered between them," Gale adds. "We have no idea what Snow would do if refugees from the districts just started migrating to Thirteen." Gale and I lock eyes and it's as if someone pushes my chest and shoves me physically back in time. We were hunting in the woods when we saw them. A boy and a girl, barely older than we are now, running through the forest. A Capitol hovercraft harpooning the boy like a fish in water, the girl hauled into the belly of the ship. Where were they running to? Why come all these way out here? If you're living in the wilderness, it would make more sense to migrate south where the winters were tolerable. Unless… they were headed beyond 12. They had somewhere else in mind.

"Then we'd have to move her there without Snow knowing that's what we were doing," Peeta responds, but his eyes haven't left Haymitch, who has an indecipherable expression on his face. "What do you think?" Peeta asks. Haymitch looks at him.

"I think you kids should leave the planning to the grown-ups," he answers gruffly, tying his scarf tighter around his throat. "Was that it?" Haymitch says to Madge, unimpressed.

"Yes," she replies.

"Okay, then. I'm heading back. You kids do _nothing_ without telling me first, understood?" Haymitch asks. We don't respond verbally, so he repeats himself. "Understood?" he says, firmer this time.

"Yes," I concede. Haymitch takes off the way we came in. The four of us just stare at each other.

"What was that about?" Gale asks, watching Haymitch's back until he disappears around the bend of trees. Haymitch had no interest in hearing any more of this.

"I have no idea," I respond.

"Could you get her there?" Peeta asks Gale. His voice is tired.

"Yes," Gale answers. "Yes, I could get her there."

We leave the forest in the opposite way we came in. Madge first. I leave next, throwing one last look over my shoulder to spy Gale and Peeta talking in low voices by the rock. Out is easier than in. Peeta's not going to get lost with a trail of footprints emblazed in the snow. I walk silently, taking in my woods.

We could keep Prim safe.

We could fight back.

I'm home almost two hours before Peeta knocks on my door. We'd agreed he'd come over so I would know he made it out safely. My mother and sister are downstairs pouring over a medicine book I brought home from the Capitol. When I peek in the kitchen, my mother is pointing to something on a page and Prim has a needle in hand.

"What are you doing to that lime?" I ask.

Prim pauses, thread between her fingers, blinking at me before a smile crosses her lips.

"Practicing a vertical mattress stitch," she explains as if it's not odd at all that she is suturing citrus fruits. I laugh a little to myself as I cross to the front door.

Peeta's standing there, looking chilled to the bone.

"Hi," he says, shivering a little.

"Hi," I say back, stepping aside so he can come in. I can almost feel his relief as the warm air from the fire envelopes his body. When he spies Prim's lime, a smile stretches across his face.

"Is this the one you were practicing last week? It looks really good!" he exclaims. Prim blushes at the praise. "I'm headed to Town. My dad needs confectionary sugar and there's not another train until next week," Peeta offers. "Need anything?"

At the mention of Mr. Mellark my mother stiffens, but she just shakes her head no.

"I'll come," I offer, grabbing my coat before my mother can protest.

"Sure. I need to stop by my house first though," Peeta says, pulling his gloves back over his fingers. We take off outside and cross to Peeta's house. Mr. Mellark and Rye sit at a table in the kitchen playing cards. I try to make awkward small talk as Peeta collects bread for a late delivery run, but I'm no good at pleasantries.

"I'm almost ready," he says as he loads the last of his supplies into a large basket and covers the top with a loose cloth. While his mom may have scared Mr. Mellark from making deliveries, Peeta can't stand idly by while children starve in the Seam and he can do something to change it. He grabs a couple blocks of cheese before we finally hit the street. The air gets colder as the day wears on and I bury my face in the scarf Hazelle made me for my last birthday. The more I walk, though, the more I think about this morning, and the more it stokes the anger in my belly.

 _Prim having to leave at all._

 _Children starving to death._

 _Peeta being auctioned off like cattle._

My pace toward Town is relentless and finally Peeta grabs my elbow. I stop in my tracks, exacerbated.

"What?" I nearly bite his head off.

"I can't keep up like that," Peeta says, straightening his posture a little. I realize his leg is sore after this morning's snowy hike. I'm such an idiot sometimes.

"Sorry," I grumble and start walking again, slower this time. "Sorry," I say more sincerely.

"Hey, Katniss," Peeta says gently. I stop and look at him. "I know." I'm not alone in this.

We stop by the Seam first, but none of Peeta's families are home. He leaves the bread sitting on their stoops, but something isn't right. The Seam feels abandoned, as if it were inhabited by ghosts. I hook the empty basket on my elbow. When we get to Town the same eerie feeling permeates the air. The streets are vacant and there's a strange noise coming from the square. I look down the alley and see a huge crowd gathered in a strange silence.

Something is happening.

I drop the basket and take off running toward the crowd. Peeta keeps up, ignoring pain in the way only a Victor can as his leg sears in protest. When we get to the edge Peeta climbs on top of a wooden crate to peer over the crowd. I watch his face. Whatever he sees, he's panicked.

"Katniss, get out of here. Go. I'll meet you at home in a bit," he says, leaping from the box and shoving my shoulders protectively away from the crowd. "I mean it, Katniss. Go!"

I slip from his hands and disappear into the crowd. I weave through them like my sister's thread through the skin of the lime, dipping in and out, looping until I nearly reach the front. When the crowd realizes I'm there, they close in around me.

"Go home, girl." "What are you trying to do, get him killed?" "Get out of here, Katniss."

That's when I see what everyone is watching.

In the center of the square, a bloody man is tied to a whipping post. His hands have been bound above his head, the rest of his body is crumpled on the ground and hanging like dead weight. He's unconscious. He's barely recognizable with the skin ripped from his body and blood dripping down his back, but I'd know this frame anywhere.

It's my best friend.

It's Gale.

Snow's assault has begun.


	35. Chapter 35 - Punishments

**Peeta**

It's just a sea of hands, forty, fifty people grabbing my hands, my arms, my clothes, shoving me backwards. I hear the crowd gasp and my pulse slams hard in my throat. Adrenaline rushes through me and I push back with enough strength that crowd can't help but part and I can finally see. Gale is stilled tied to the post, unconscious. The turkey he caught this morning is nailed to the pole above his head. Katniss is on her knees between Gale and his attacker. Her face is dripping with the blood, which she spits defiantly on the ground before shoving herself back to her feet. She stares down the assailant – a new Peacekeeper with a shiny new uniform splattered in new blood. He shouts something indiscernible at Katniss and she glares at him. This must be what it was like to watch Katniss in the Games. She's heroic. Defiant. I feel hands on my body and I realize the townspeople are trying to pull me back.

"We can't lose both of you," I hear one of them say as I shove against them. That's when I hear a familiar voice and all movement stops.

"Hold it!" the voice barks. Haymitch steps up and plants himself between Katniss and the Peacekeeper. He turns his back to the silver-haired man with the whip and faces Katniss. All natural instinct tells you to never turn your back to an attacker, but he's clever beyond words. He's making the Peacekeeper seem unimportant. He's not a threat, not even a worry. Haymitch touches Katniss's chin and assesses her bloody face. "Well that's just great. She's got a wedding dress photo shoot in the Capitol next week. What am I supposed to tell her stylist?"

Haymitch turns back to the Peacekeeper, as if suddenly _he_ is the one at fault. The crowd of people it's absolutely silent. To everyone else, Haymitch has been nothing but a bumbling drunk, and yet here he is, talking back to a Peacekeeper, protecting his own. Acting irritated even, as if he'd somehow been the one wronged and not the armed men circling the square. He doesn't even blink. His breath is even. If he's terrified, he's not showing it.

"Well? Who gave you permission to mess up my victor's pretty little face?" Haymitch barks at him. The Peacekeeper is at a loss, but the anger brewing inside him isn't as controlled. He screams back at Haymitch.

"She interrupted the punishment of a confessed criminal!" the man with bellows.

"I don't care if she blew up the damn Justice Building!" Haymitch spits back. Some in the crowd laugh and it does nothing but infuriate the man more. I take advantage of the distraction, finally breaking free from the crowd. I sprint forward and plant myself in front of Katniss and Gale.

"He's her cousin," I answer. Haymitch shoots me a look, clearly pissed that now he's got two victors on the line. I don't care. This man will have to beat his way through me and Haymitch before he lays a hand on Katniss and Gale. "And she's my fiancée, and if you want to lay another hand on my family, you're gonna have to go through me first."

And so the three of us stand there, between the whip and Gale. Three victors in defiance of the Capitol.

 **Madge**

There's no one in the Hob. I stand with the silver coin in my hand, the last of the money I took with me when I left my family. I saw an old leather coat at Hesther's stand last week, shoulders wide enough for Gale and fur lining the inside. I know it will likely be more than I have, but I'm willing to bring her future game. I'm not sure she'll let me take it on credit, but it doesn't seem to matter because the Hob is practically empty.

It's not like peddlers to leave their merchandise unattended. A desperate person might steal, but I stare at the tables of food and liquor and supplies before I shove the coin back in my pocket. That's when I hear a sound like I've never heard before – like the crack of lightening but closer. I look around and the abandoned Hob and something in my stomach feels very wrong. I hear it again, somewhere in the near distance.

I start running toward the Hob entrance when the whole structure goes up in flames. The fire is quick – drinking the oxygen and paper-thin linen and dry, old wooden walls. There's only one way in or out of the Hob. When the hot air reaches my face my lungs react and I hack uncontrollably. I wrap my scarf around my face and look around desperately, though the black smoke makes my eyes sting. My hands fumble aimlessly from table to table. I know what I'm looking for. When my fingers graze a smooth, wooden box I know I've found the woodworker's table. I practically knock it over sweeping my arms desperately until I find what I'm looking for. The handle is long and smooth, the blade at its head heavy. I grab the axe and go to the nearest wall. I swing it over my head and it whacks loudly into the wooden wall. I try again and my second blow lands nowhere near the first. It's nearly impossible to control but just swing again and again and again until little bits of light start peeking through the holes. When it seems like I've done some damage, I kick at the wall. I'm not particularly strong, but the desperation seems to be winning as small parts of the wall give way. When it's finally big enough for me to squeeze through I drop the axe and push myself out.

The cold winter air bites my face cruelly. The wood scratches and pokes my sides as I shimmy through. I fall gracelessly to the ground, my chest heaving as I try to breathe the frozen air into lungs full of black smoke. I force myself to my feet and start to hobble back to Town when a rush of people hits me heading the other way – fleeing the square. Merchants enter their shops and lock their doors tight. Seamsfolk push past me on their way out of Town. That's when I capture the scene they've left behind.

Gale, tied to a pole, wrists above his head, blood dripping down his body.

Katniss, her face swollen and dripping blood, sawing at the ropes holding him up.

Peeta and Haymitch and a few other men approaching with a board.

I turn and I run.

 **Haymitch**

The Hawthorne kid is heavy. He's lucky he's out. I don't know how long that luck will last. I watch the back of the man ahead of me. A miner, I think. We move silently as we had up toward Victor's Village. That's where the only healer is now.

When we reach Katniss's lawn that pretty little girl peeks her head out. It's like watching her age in fast forward. When she realizes what's going on, the innocence of youth disappears from her face. Her pink lips set into a straight line, her eyes harden, her jaw clenches.

"Mom!" I hear her scream as she bolts back into the house, leaving the front door wide open.

The stairs aren't easy. By the time we deposit the Seam boy on the kitchen table every muscle in my body hurts, but I can't really complain as I watch the two Everdeen women pick pieces of dead flesh from the boy's body. I dismiss the men who helped us, offering them each some money which is promptly refused.

When I go back to the kitchen Katniss is watching stoically as her mother and sister work quickly to clean and close as many wounds as they can. Peeta stands behind her, as if ready to catch her should she fall. Lily gestures to Prim, who pauses her work to go assess Katniss's face. She protests, twisting her chin in her sister's hand. I look at the gash. This is not good. This will look like an act of cruelty from the Capitol. If we could travel we could polish it off, but Katniss won't be leaving the district again for months.

"'Scuse me," I mutter, though I doubt anyone heard. I duck out the front door and head across the lawn. The district is so silent I can hear the soft soles of my shoes crunch against the snow. When I look down to Town, a black billow of smoke rises above the District.

The Hob is burning.

I'm on the phone with Effie barely a minute. She knows what I can't say, what I need. That woman knows more than she lets on. I reach in my cabinet and swish my mouth with white liquor before swallowing it. I steel my stomach and head back across the snow.

 **Madge**

I rap my knuckles hard and fast on the front door. It stings and I shake my hand before clenching my fist and banging. I've walked through this door a million times and never knocked. I've stared at it while walking through town on my way to the Hob. It's haunted my dreams. It's kept me from my family – my mother, my dad. And now it's keeping me from the only thing that will really help right now.

I pound my fist again.

"Miss Undersee," Hannah murmurs as she opens the front door, tucking a loose piece of coal black hair behind her ear. Hannah is my family's maid. She's from the Seam, has three kids of her own. She's technically a government employee charged with caring for the mayor's house, whoever the mayor may be. It wasn't her job, but she basically raised me too. My mother spent most of her days locked in her room and my father was so busy trying to make sure the District didn't starve to death that he hardly had time for me. Sunday was our special day, where we'd eat strawberries and play games. The rest of the week I had Hannah.

"You must be freezing, Miss Undersee," Hannah whispers, and for a second I think I see the flash of a tear in her eye.

"Madge," I correct her. There's no reason for deference between us now. There never really was.

"Well come in!" Hannah offers, stepping to the side. "Should I take your coat?"

"No, no that won't be necessary," I answer. I'll probably get thrown out of the house before I even make it to my mother's room. I grab the railing to the stairs and walk my way up slowly. I walk past my old room and I can't help but drag my feet for a moment and peek inside. Not an item has been touched since I left. It's like a museum to who I once was, full of artifacts and bits of a life I once had. I close the door and hide the room away again. Hide away what was my life. It's only a few more steps before I arrive at what I came for.

I try to steel myself as I wrap my hand around the knob to my mother's room. My parents haven't shared a bed in as long as I can remember. My father's room is down the hall at the end. Our rooms hugged my mother's on either side, as if we were holding her up. I clear my throat and knock as I open the door.

My mother is in her bed. She's sitting up, her back against the headboard. She's wearing a fresh white nightgown that Hannah must have pressed with starch, Her blonde hair is braided back into a tight mane that runs down her back. Hannah probably did that too. Hannah is paid to be the caretaker of the house, but she's very much the caretaker of our family. My mother's pupils are dilated and she doesn't seem to notice me as I enter the room. Her head bobs slightly and I hold my breath as I walk across the room. Heel toe. Heel toe. When I reach her nightstand the drawer sticks and my eyes shoot up to my mother, worried she's going to reach out a hand and slap my wrist. She's out of it though. The drawer finally gives in and I find what I'm looking for.

There are five or six boxes in the drawer, all identical. I take one from the drawer and lift the lid to find six tiny glass bottles of morphling. My mother stirs and I slap the lid shut.

"Hannah," my mother slurs. "Hannah?"

"Yes?" I answer, my voice tiny in my throat.

"I had the most wonderful dream. I dreamt Madge was home. I dreamt she came to see me. I dreamt…"

I want her to say more but her speech drawls to a hum and her head bobs back down. My heart slams in my chest as I tuck the box in my waistband of my pants and I tug my sweater back down. I run out of her room and down the stairs.

"Madge! Madge! Where are you going? Can't you stay?" Hannah calls after me. At the word _stay_ my feet slam to a stop.

"I'm sorry," is all I can manage before I dash out the door. It's already getting dark. My legs burn as I sprint toward Victor's Village. I've already wasted too much time.

 **Peeta**

Katniss digs at the snow with her shoe as Prim tries to apply a second round of medicine to her face. She squirms, although it's not pain that's driving her movements, it's impatience.

"If you don't sit still it will take me longer to get back to Gale," Prim harps and Katniss's limbs go still. Her mother threw her out of the house after she tripped on Katniss's feet for the third time. She hovered over Gale like the mother of a sick child. It was only after Hazelle arrived that Katniss agreed to stay out of the kitchen.

Gale's been awake now for about twenty minutes. It's made things much worse for everyone. He's sweating and panting and moaning. He's almost delirious with pain. Another noise comes from the kitchen and Katniss whips her head toward the house.

"He'll be alright," I whisper, stroking her thumb with mine while she clenches the rest of my hand in an iron grip. I regret the words the moment they cross my lips.

"You don't know that," she spits out. She pushes when she's upset. She pushes me away. I know better than to let her, but I know better than to pull her closer too. It's when she's pushing that I dig my feet in. It's when she's pushing that she needs me not to budge. She doesn't want to be smothered or placated. She just wants me there, even if she doesn't know it.

Katniss stares off into the distance as Prim smooths the ointment over her cheekbone. I hear creaking on the porch behind us and find Haymitch leaning against the pole.

"Boy's okay for now," he says, but no sooner are the words in the air than a wail follows him out the door. I can hear Gale panting through the pain.

There's nothing any of us can do. Mrs. Everdeen mixed some sleep syrup but all it did was make Gale unable to focus on anything. Maybe he won't be able to remember any of this, but it doesn't take away the fact that in this moment, he's in agony.

That's when a tiny figure on the horizon steals my attention from the sobs inside the house. It's running toward Victor's Village, feet sloppy against the slick snow.

"No! They can't have him!" Katniss says, shooting to her feet, fist clenched.

When the blonde hair comes into detail I realize it's not an invading Peacekeeper. It's Madge.

She's a mess. The skin around her nostrils and the corners of her mouth is black. The ends of her hair look singed, like she stood too close to the oven.

"Madge, what happened to you?" I ask, stepping toward her.

She ignores me and looks only at Katniss.

"Here. This is for Gale," she insists, shoving the box in Katniss's hands. Katniss lifts the lid, but whatever is in the black cardboard box changes her entire demeanor.

"Thank you," Katniss says sincerely before rushing inside the house.

That's when Madge hacks up smoke-singed phlegm and Prim forces her to sit on the steps as she listens to her lungs.

Too many patients, not enough healers.


	36. Chapter 36 - Madge

"Does your chest hurt?" Mrs. Everdeen asks.

"No," I lie. Only a little. I breathe in as she listens to my lungs with a stethoscope. She has Prim listen, and when I breathe too deep I can't help but cough. I lie back on the couch. Prim looks down my throat with a flashlight.

"I don't see any burns, Mom, but it's really red," she says. I follow Mrs. Everdeen's finger with my eyes. She seems satisfied enough.

"You need to take it easy, but you'll be alright," she says, wiping my face with a washcloth. It's so maternal my skin aches for her touch. My mother never wiped my face. My mother never kissed a scraped knee. My mother doesn't leave her room. Mrs. Everdeen and Prim make me a bed on the couch and finally head upstairs. I get up and make my way to the kitchen.

When I come into the room Katniss is sitting on a stool next to the table. She has Gale's hand in hers as she rubs small circles in his palm. I can feel her worry filling the room like steam from a hot shower. It's as if her thoughts have words of their own.

 _I did this. I did this. I did this._

She watches him carefully. I watch her. I've never understood Katniss. I think that's because she's never wanted me to. But she's easy to read in this moment. Guilt. Worry. She wanted Gale gone from here, out of the Capitol's reach. She thinks she waited too long.

 _Gale is in no condition to run. He's in no condition to take our sisters anywhere._

"Hey," a voice comes from behind me. I nearly leap from my skin until I see Peeta with a half-smile. He squeezes my arm before he passes me and enters the kitchen. I watch him kneel in front of Katniss, his fingers gingerly running over her face. They talk for a minute. He gestures toward me with his head and Katniss looks my way before meeting his eyes again. Peeta finally gets her to go upstairs and throws a look to me before following her. When I hear her bedroom door close, I cross to the table. I hover over Gale – watchful, afraid if I breathe to loud I might wake him. Gale sleeps for about an hour before growing restless.

"Hey," I whisper. Gale barely moves his head, but he heard me. The corner of his mouth turns up for a just a second, but even that effort is too much for him and he grits his jaw tight. I grab the stool Katniss has been warming all night and sit beside him. He opens his gray eyes and when they land on my face, I notice a trace of relief.

"Hey," he says back. His voice sounds like his throat is full of gravel. He tries to keep his eyes open but he can't focus on anything. Morphling does that to you. My mother's developed a resistance to it. She needs more and more every time she uses it. A regular dose for her would probably kill me. Sometimes she'll take just a little too much and her eyes will glaze over, her head bobbing like a drunkard in the Hob. That's how Gale looks now, although it's a million times better than how he looked hours ago.

"I understand if you want to run away. They nearly killed you. They would have if Katniss hadn't–" I can't even get the words out. His gaze steadies as he reads my face. "You were right, Gale. You should run."

"Nah. I'm gonna stay here with you and cause all kinds of trouble," he manages, wincing at the chuckle that attempted an appearance. He lets his eyes fall closed again and for a moment I feel like I'm watching a child. He looks peaceful when he's asleep. It's the most peace he'll find anytime soon. The weeks ahead of him will be excruciating. I wait a long time, until his breathing evens out, until he sighs and the worry lines slip from his brow. I take a tentative hand and sweep his hair out of his eyes. It's long. I don't know why he won't let his mom cut it. He hasn't had it trimmed since I moved in next door. Hazelle says it's because he doesn't want me to see him being treated like a little boy. I smirk.

In some ways he's really complicated, and in other ways he's predictable. Proud. Stubborn.

Kind. Thoughtful. Selfless.

I drop down and I kiss his mouth softly. Gale takes a sudden, quick breath and I shoot away from him, nearly knocking over the stool.

"Sorry. Shit. Sorry," I ramble.

I'm about to make a hasty exit when Gale's hand catches my wrist. My eyes shoot back to him. Clearly he's in agony, the movement alone jetting pain through the raw, exposed flesh on his back. He's willing to be in agony if it means I'm nearer to him.

"Don't go," he croaks before his hand slips from mine. He passes out and I'm not sure if it's from the drugs or the torture of reaching for me. Either way, guilt flushes over me. The unconsciousness is only momentary, though. Only a few minutes later and his forehead furls again and Gale presses his face down into the pillow, trying to grunt his way through a wave of pain. I find the stool and stand it up, sitting down beside him.

"As first dates go, I've been on better," Gale's muffled voice comes through the pillow. I can't help it. I laugh. He reaches for my hand and weaves our fingers together, squeezing me so tight I think my bones might break. I just grit and bear it, though, knowing it's nothing compared to the searing feeling running through his flesh.

It takes a while but he finally falls asleep. I don't. My mind is running in circles with the events of the day – what they mean, what's to come. I drift a little here and there. I hear creaking on the stairs and glance over my shoulder. Katniss is perched on the bottom step. She looks terrible. Her face is even more swollen than it was earlier; the lash across her eye looks brutal. She didn't take any of the morphling herself. She wanted to save what she could for Gale. It's no wonder she can't sleep.

"Hey," I say is a rusty whisper. I cough slightly, trying to clear the ashy cobwebs from my throat.

"Hey," Katniss responds, stepping into the kitchen. "How's he doing?" she asks.

"He's been asleep for a few hours now," I answer. Katniss nods and then crosses to the stove. She makes a cup of tea and sets it in front of me. "Thanks," I respond automatically, bringing the steaming mug to my lips. She shouldn't be taking care of me. She should be upstairs nursing her own wounds, but instead her eyes trace the lash marks on Gale's back.

"I'm sorry," Katniss finally says. I'm not sure what she's apologizing for. She saved his life. Maybe she can read the doubt on my face, because she adds, "This wouldn't have happened if it weren't for me. Gale would just be a nobody."

"Gale's never wanted to be a nobody," I find myself saying automatically. Katniss takes me in. I don't know Gale, not like she does. _She's_ his best friend, not me. She nods though, like she agrees. I think I made her feel better, even if it's just a little bit.

"Thank you for keeping an eye on him when I can't," Katniss says. I want to tell her she's not doing him any favors telling him to run away, but I'm not sure I believe that anymore. Katniss saw this coming. She saw a fierce reckoning targeted at Gale. She wanted him to run because she wasn't sure she could face this – his being hurt and Katniss perceiving it to be her fault. She wanted everyone she loves safe and gone – Gale, Prim, Posy. I'm not so sure she was wrong, not anymore.

"When did he start in the mines?" I hear her ask quietly, shaking me from my thoughts.

"January," I answer. The first day of the new year. The first day he was eligible.

"What did Hazelle do?" she asks.

"Not much she could do. She wasn't happy," I respond.

I watch Katniss watch Gale. I watch her head grow heavy. She's trying to save the whole world. She's moving too fast to stop and think about herself.

"You should go get some sleep," I say. Peeta must be upstairs. I never saw him come down. Katniss just looks listless. I stand from the stool. "Sit," I order. She takes my seat and I walk outside. I gather some snow from the banking next to her house and add what's left of the antibiotic mixture to it. I come inside and kneel in front of Katniss, pressing the cold snow to her face. She lets out a sigh of relief and her hand comes up and takes over holding the snow. I drop mine to her knee and squeeze. She reaches for my hair and gently tugs until a piece of burnt wood drops into her palm. When I look up her one good eye has welled with water and a single tear drops down her cheek.

Katniss Everdeen doesn't cry.

I'm at a loss.

So we do what the other girls do. What normal girls do. What Katniss and I have never done. We talk. We talk for hours, until the sun creeps its way through the curtains. The two of us talk about anything and everything – our families, the changes in 12, the Seam, the Hawthornes, Mrs. Mellark, Prim's goat, my feeble attempts at hunting, the engagement.

"Can I see it?" I ask. Katniss rolls her eyes and holds out her left hand. The diamond on her finger is stunning. I'm not sure I've ever seen anything so pretty, so shiny and clean and new in my entire life.

"It's an embarrassment," Katniss says. "I keep knocking it on everything. It's completely impractical. How am I supposed to gut a squirrel with this…" She flops her hand around like the weight of the ring is overwhelming. "…This monstrosity on my hand?"

"Peeta never gave me a ring," I tease.

"Take it!" Katniss kids. I laugh with her, but it makes me cough. I know what she's really saying, though. That ring could probably feed the entire Seam for a month. She's ashamed of it. I would be, too.

The sun is barely up when Peeta wakes and comes downstairs. Katniss keeps her back to him, shielding her face from view as he lets her know he's going next door to bake before everyone is up. He kisses her head and slips out into the cold, early morning. I watch his back as he exits through the kitchen door. I watch how Katniss reacts to him. I wonder if he knows she loves him back. I wonder if she knows.

Gale stirs and I immediately move toward him. Katniss watches us with a curious look on her face.

"It comes so easy to you," she says. I want to ask her what she means, but Gale starts to moan. Katniss mixes some sleep syrup and soon Gale is out again. She sits on the floor, bringing her knees to her chest.

We talk for a while about the Capitol. I ask a lot of questions. She tells me about the strange cast of characters – Effie, Cinnia, Portia. I can't keep the names of her prep team straight, or what they do. Flavia, Octavius… someone else.

"Who is on Peeta's prep team?" I ask. Katniss pauses as if stopped mid-thought.

"I don't know their names," she realizes. Katniss leaves to stoke the stove and when she comes back she leans back against the counter. For a while it's the same way it always has been between us. Comfortable silence.

Maybe an hour later, Peeta comes through the door with a basket of muffins in his arms. The smile falls from his face when he sees Katniss. He sets the muffins down and crosses to her. She's sitting on the counter now, and his hips fall between her legs as he runs his fingers carefully over her swollen cheek.

"It's worse. I'm worried it's infected. I'm waking your mother," Peeta insists. She tries to grab his shirt but he slips from her reach and pounds his feet on the stairs. Katniss sighs and rolls her eyes, jumping down from the counter. Mrs. Everdeen orders her to bed, which Katniss ignores.

People are in and out most of the day. Peeta leaves to make his deliveries. Given the circumstances in the district, Peeta may be the only lifeline some families. He doesn't want to leave the house but knows he can't stay. Rye hangs out. I don't really know him and try to make small talk. Rory skipped school and has glued at Gale's side. Haymitch arrives with a package Effie sent via hovercraft. Inside is a single syringe with some kind of miracle cure for Katniss's face.

"No. Give it to Gale," she insists, covering his face with her hands. The crowd of people in the kitchen look at her like she's grown two heads.

"We need to get you in front of the cameras as soon as possible," Haymitch says. "Something light and fluffy. Maybe wedding dress fittings or flowers for Prim or something…"

"I don't care!" she shrieks. "Give it to Gale!"

"There is more going on here than what's right in front of your face, sweetheart," Haymitch says seriously, his voice growing quiet. I don't know what he's talking about but I don't need to know. If dress fittings will please the president, then certainly that will make life in 12 better for the rest of us. I want Gale better, but Katniss has a bigger role to play here, even I know that. She could prevent other beatings, other people from being hurt. People with no support system. Single parents whose children might starve without them. Mrs. Everdeen pulls the liquid into the syringe and Katniss shoots from her seat. Haymitch catches her and she's rabid like a wild animal.

"No! Stop it! No! Give it to Gale!" Katniss claws her fingernails at Haymitch's arms as he drags her backward into the kitchen. She digs her heels into the ground and Haymitch nearly pitches over.

"Come on you," Haymitch roars at Rory, who clearly has no idea what to do. Rory looks at me desperately, frozen in place. Katniss has to know that her face is more important right now than Gale's back. It's what Gale would want, were he conscious. I hate myself as I nod my head to Rory. He steps forward and grabs Katniss's waist.

"Don't you dare touch me!" Katniss howls at him. She slams her elbow back into Haymitch's gut and he doubles over as Katniss drops from his arms. Rory loses his grip and I'm marveling over her sheer strength and willpower. That's when the middle Mellark boy steps forward and pins Katniss almost effortlessly to the ground. She struggles against him, but Rye has been wrestling since he could toddle and is twice her size.

"Do it!" Rye orders firmly, and Mrs. Everdeen injects the needle into her daughter's skin. Katniss's resolve wilts as she sinks into the floor.

"What are you all doing?" We hear a voice from the doorway. Peeta stands at the entrance to the kitchen, his eyes wide as he crosses through the door. He drops his gaze and realizes Rye has Katniss pinned to the floor against her will. Katniss seems groggy as the medicine hits her system. "What the hell?" Peeta roars and he steps forward and throws Rye off Katniss. Rye slams into the wall and collapses to the ground.

"Hey man, you don't understand," Rye starts to explain but Peeta's hand is already balled into a fist. This isn't the peaceful, quiet boy I knew growing up. This is a Victor, reborn in the kiln of an Arena. Peeta just stands there, panting. I watch his chest go up and down and I count the breaths. He knows this is not what Katniss needs right now. It's not who he is. We're all in this fishbowl of hurt and emotion and tension. Finally, he unballs his hand and turns back to Katniss. Already the swelling in her face has gone down dramatically. Peeta drops to his knees as she sits up.

"Are you okay?" he says, so low I can barely hear him. I feel awkward just gawking at the two of them, but everyone else is too.

"Unfortunately," Katniss grumbles. Peeta looks confused but helps Katniss as she forces herself to her feet. She stumbles a little bit, clearly dizzy.

"Did you guys drug her or something?" Peeta asks, disbelief in his voice.

"Hey kid, she pulled the same stunt on you," Haymitch grumbles. It's true. I remember as a nation was glued to the television when Katniss drugged Peeta with sleep syrup and went to the feast for Peeta's medicine. Peeta looks confused, but then his eyes run over her face. She's barely swollen now, although her skin is still red and bruised and raw.

Gale moans and I'm immediately at his side. It's as if the rest of the room slips away. I hear Katniss yelling, pointing at Gale, but eventually the kitchen clears of everyone except Mrs. Everdeen. She injects Gale with more of my mother's morphling and he slips back under.

"When can I bring him home?" I ask.

"Tomorrow, I hope. We need to watch him for infection now," she says. I hear Prim come back downstairs. She was sent to her room during all the commotion. Katniss's mother leaves a sandwich for me on the counter and heads upstairs. Prim hovers over Gale, changing his dressings and cleaning as she goes. She works quietly, sneaking peeks at me every once in a while.

"Can you show me how to do that?" I ask. She nods and I watch her hands then copy her movements. "And how do I make the green stuff?" I follow up. Prim shows me how to make the antibiotic mixture.

"Do you need help with the morphling too?" she asks politely. I shake my head no. That part I've got.

"It was really brave of you, telling Rory to help Haymitch," Prim says, her eyes on the task at hand.

"Not really," I say.

"No it was. We all knew what had to be done. Katniss is just… She would rather suffer than watch someone else go through something awful. She's always been like that. She wasn't thinking clearly. And… it's Gale…" Prim explains.

"Yeah," I whisper, running my thumb over his cheek.

It's Gale.


	37. Chapter 37 - Done

Peeta kicked Rye out of the house. I think he's staying with my mother. Fine. Keep all the traitors under one roof. I stare at the wall and pull the blanket up to my ears. Peeta comes into the room and sets a glass of Lady's milk and a slice of raisin toast on the nightstand.

"Hey," he says gently.

"Hey," I say back, but I'm not actually sure the word comes out of my mouth.

"Can I see?" Peeta asks. I roll on my back and look at him. By the expression on his face I can tell the medicine has done its job. "Does it still hurt?" he asks.

"No," I answer. I know he tries to hide it, but the relief is palpable.

"It wasn't okay, what they did to you," Peeta says.

"I know that," I respond, shorter than I should be with him. "But they weren't wrong," I add under my breath.

"No, they weren't," he admits. "Can you eat this for me?"

I acquiesce although the bread feels like glue in my throat. Peeta seems pleased, though. A howling wind rips outside and we both stand and walk to the window and peer into the night sky. The wind is roaring, whipping up snow already laid on the ground and tossing it around in the air. I can barely see more than a couple feet from the glass.

"Storm came quick," Peeta murmurs. In less than an hour the entire night sky is filled with white. The wind can't seem to make up its mind on direction, so the snow drifts pile up this way and that. I go downstairs to stoke the fire again before bed while Peeta changes the sheets. When I reach the living room I find Mr. Mellark kneeling in front of the fireplace. I jump with a start, forgetting we weren't alone.

"Katniss!" he says, placing a log at his feet.

"Sorry, just used to Peeta's house being empty," I try to excuse myself, but instead I think I've made him feel guilty. We've only been back a few days. This is the first night I've stayed at Peeta's. We snuck around before the Tour. Now…

"I was just stoking the stove before bed. I'll get out of your hair," Mr. Mellark says calmly, as though he were the intruder and not me.

"No, stay," I offer. He gives me a half smile before he loads the final log into the fire. He stands and brushes off the front of his pants.

"Oh, sit here. I have a surprise for you, I just need a couple minutes," he says cheerfully before escaping to the kitchen. I watch the fire crackle and move from the couch to the hearth. My father used to tell me I got too close to the stove in our old house. _You don't want to catch fire!_ he'd tease. Little did he know what he'd prophesized.

"Here we are!" Mr. Mellark says in a sing-songy kind of voice. He sets a mug next to me on the hearth. I peer inside. "Peeta said you like hot chocolate," he adds in a hopeful tone. He's trying to build a bridge here.

"I do, thank you," I say, sipping the drink pensively as he sits in the arm chair with a smile. The chocolate warms my belly and a hint of that warmth sneaks to my chest, trying to locate my cold, graceless heart.

"I'm glad you're both home now. I'm always uneasy when Peet's away," the baker says. I can tell he's been worried. The counters in Peeta's kitchen are covered with breads and cookies. He must catch me staring because he mutters. "Oh that. Well. I didn't quite know what to do with myself. I know Peeta's been trying to keep bread on the tables of those most in need. I thought I'd step in while he was gone, but then…"

"Then what?" I ask.

"Some Peacekeeper came 'round and told me we were to stop making all those deliveries. Something about interfering with local commerce. We don't have the proper licenses..." His voice trails off. "Evie said we were stealing customers, but we weren't. Peeta's only ever given bread to people who would have never been able to afford the bakery anyway."

We sit quietly for a while.

"I think I can help," I offer. I just spent a night with the Mayor's daughter. If anyone knows how to work the system, she does. Mr. Mellark looks confused, but grateful. I rise from the couch and set the empty mug in the kitchen sink. When I reach the stairs I notice Peeta sitting on the steps overlooking the living room. I walk up and sit beside him.

"Were you spying on us?" I say, half teasing.

"Is it weird for you? Having my dad here?" Peeta asks.

"No. I think…" I don't know what I was going to say so I just sigh. I want to hate Mr. Mellark. For my dad's sake I want to yell at him and throw him out of Victor's Village, but when I see him sitting on the couch, watching the fire, I can't manage the vitriol needed for hate. He just seems like a kind man that no one has ever loved right. "He's your dad, Peeta." I stand up and squeeze his shoulder before going to bed.

I listen to the howling wind as I drift off. I didn't sleep last night, and with the pain gone it doesn't take much to lull me under. I don't know how long it is before Peeta joins me – one hour or many. When I feel his arms slide around my waist and pull me into him, I just let the night be. We can worry in the morning. He nuzzles his face into my neck and wraps me in the heat of the warm, nighttime blankets. Peeta whispers something, but sleep is winning and the words don't make sense as I fall back asleep.

Looking out the window as the sun rises, I know it's useless to try to shovel out. The snow has stopped but the wind hasn't died down. The canvas of our yards shifts and snow piles heave this way and that. I pick up the phone and call next door. It's early, but Prim answers. It's the closest to angry I've ever been with Prim, but just the sound of her voice and my resolve wanes.

"Hey little duck," I answer back. She bubbles with excitement that I've called. That I'm not shutting her out, that I'm not shutting down. That I don't hate her. "How's Gale?"

She gives me all the details. Gale is starting to wake for more than a minute or so at a time. Madge spent most of the night coughing and kept half the house up. Prim made her some kind of honey drink and Madge is finally sleeping in Prim's room with all the curtains drawn. Mom wants to move Gale off the table and into a bed, but they aren't sure how. When I hang up, I turn around and find Rye plowing through the front door, carrying half a snow drift with him. I don't say anything. I'm not mad at him, not really.

"Hey," he offers. I nod. "You gonna throw me out?"

"It's not my house to throw you out of," I answer. He scoffs playfully.

"Might as well be," he gives me a half smirk before crossing to the kitchen, leaving puddles of melting snow in his wake. A normal girl would clean that up. I've never been a normal girl. I throw a kitchen towel at Rye and he gets the hint, dropping to his knees and sopping up the water.

"You gonna forgive me?" he asks the floor, his hand paused.

"Yes," I answer without emotion.

When I turn around and head to the stairs to go wake Peeta, Rye says to my back, "Maybe it's time to forgive Mom and Dad, too." I'm about to snap at him when I realize he doesn't mean Mr. and Mrs. Mellark. He means my Mom. And Haymitch.

"You don't know what you're talking about," I say.

"Sure," he fake-concedes.

"I don't have to like you, you know," I say.

"I don't have to like you either," he snarks right back. I head up the stairs. "I just do," he calls after me. A smile sneaks onto my lips without my permission. I walk down the hall toward Peeta's room when I notice the light change in Peeta's art studio. It's just another bedroom, really, but the bed and dressers have been shoved against one wall and the rest of the room is filled with canvases and easels and oils and brushes. Peeta paints in here in the early morning, when the natural light is cool and bright. The flash I saw though wasn't natural in any way. I press my palm against the cold wooden door and slowly push it open.

President Snow stands behind one of the easels, assessing Peeta's work like a spider repairing its web – looking for weaknesses. His form flickers and I realize he isn't here at all. It's a hologram. Snow looks up and takes me in.

"Miss Everdeen," he nods casually, looking back at the painting.

"What are you doing here?" I spit out.

"Your face looks well. Hardly what I expected based off the footage I saw," he says calmly, his eyes shifting off my face and back to the painting. He saw the whipping.

He sees everything.

"I heal quick," I answer.

"So it appears," he says, the words slippery off his tongue. "That can't happen again, Miss Everdeen. I need you to calm to the Districts. _Your_ District. If they see you abiding by the rules, they will be more likely to do the same."

"Your new Peacekeeper–" I start, but I can't get more than that out before he raises his voice over mine, his tone commanding, but still tempered.

"Your cousin broke the law, Miss Everdeen. It's generous enough that I keep him alive for you, but you expect me to look the other way when he flaunts his criminality in front of the entire population of District Twelve? Don't think for a moment you saved his life. You are not a hero. I let him live."

I don't know what to say. I just stare at him defiantly.

"If there is an uprising, here in Twelve or anywhere else, I will kill every last rebel and hang them in the streets to warn the others. I will set their districts ablaze. I will turn the next Games into an exercise in cruelty. You don't want that, do you, Miss Everdeen? Children burning and crying and starving all because you were too foolish to let the baker's son die in an Arena? To let Mr. Hawthorne pay for his crimes?" Snow stares at me. "Do you?"

"No," I answer honestly. Quietly. I must look as defeated as I feel because the president sneers.

"Then we have an understanding," he leads.

"We do," I answer back. The hologram flashes for a moment and Snow is gone. I want to drop to my knees. I want to pound my fist through a wall. Instead, I lock my jaw and go to Peeta's room. "Up!" I order before turning around stomping back down the stairs. By the time Peeta is dressed and at the front door I've already got my jacket on and my boots laced up.

"Where are we going?" he asks, blearily pulling on his jacket. I can tell by his eyes he's only been asleep a couple hours at most.

"Out," I answer, and when I shove the door open the wind practically pushes us back in the house. "Come on," I order and we force our way out into the snow. Over a foot came down easily last night, and piled on top of the snow that was already there it's well above our knees. Even with the bitterly cold air nipping at any inch of exposes skin, my body breaks out into a sweat from the excursion of forcing our way through the snow to Haymitch's door. I slam my fist on his door and Haymitch doesn't come right away. I pound again and finally he pulls the door open, raising a hand to shield his face from the weather.

"Really?" he complains, grabbing his coat from the hook, shoving his feet in boots, and stepping outside. He doesn't bother asking why. We trudge maybe a few feet from the house. The wind is too loud, the snow too thick for cameras and listening devices to get anything concrete here. I probably look compliant, immediately calling together the victors to convey Snow's message. But it's not compliant words that cross my lips.

"I'm done waiting. I'm done reacting. It's time," I say into the howling blizzard wind. The men nod their heads in agreement.


	38. Chapter 38 - The Obvious Part

When the snow finally relents, we find District 12 transformed. The town square is now home to all forms of public punishment – the whipping post made permanent with an ominous notch at the top representing Gale, counting its victims the way Cray used to count the notches on his belt; a row of stocks – one of which is occupied by Ripper, her body shivering against the cold wind as her back is forced over and her head and hands are locked in its wooden shackles; but most disturbing of all – a large gallows with three empty nooses. The number doesn't go unnoticed – one rope for each victor.

The people of 12 hardly leave their homes.

I give a televised interview to some unknown Capitol reporter about the wedding. If I'm hoping to gain our district leniency it does not. I grumble at Haymitch, knowing all along it was pointless.

It's nearly a month before Gale is well enough to return to his job in the mine. None of us are happy with him, but the foreman has made it clear there are others who would take his job were he not to return before the next scheduled crew replenishment. Madge said he nearly wept as he tried to take his shirt off that night, his new fragile skin inflamed and bleeding through the fabric. The other workers in the mines were kind to Gale, one woman even standing guard while he retched into a bucket from the pain.

Haymitch, Peeta and I argue over how to recruit rebels and when. How to find allies. Unlike my father, we know the mines are bugged, but we also know that the Capitol only "inspects" the site once a month, so newly exposed areas are safety zone for covert conversations. It's difficult with everyone shuddered in their homes, but Peeta's bread deliveries themselves serve as their own form of communication for what's happening in other districts. We transmit information fed to us by Plutarch – raisins mean word of other uprisings, dark wheat if a district is shut down by Peacekeepers, white flour for no news. We all agree, though. Our district is small. It's all or nothing, and all is going to take us a while.

We try to live our lives.

"I invited the Mellarks for dinner," I announce one morning as my mother pours Lady's milk into her coffee. Her eyes nearly bulge from her head. "Just the ones next door," I add, but it doesn't seem to ease her anxiety any. My mother spends nearly the entire day in the kitchen. I make a salad and mix some vinaigrette together before she kicks me out. Dark still comes early, although winter has grown late, so it's barely past three o'clock when they arrive. Mr. Mellark is carrying a basket of rosemary dinner rolls, which he thinks is masking his trembling hands but is not.

"Thank you for having us," he says politely as I take the basket and place it at the center of the dinner table. Mr. Mellark turns to my mother and nods shyly, "Hello Lillian."

"Abel," she says back just as mechanically. Peeta and I exchange a look.

Prim comes bouncing out of the study as she hears our guests arrive. She wanted to help with dinner, but she was banished to go work on a project she has due in school.

"Hi!" she says with a flourish and a smile, her cheeks flushed from excitement.

"Hey kiddo," Mr. Mellark says, giving her a hug.

"Prim, I got you something," Rye says bashfully. She walks over and he holds out his hand. Prim mimics the motion with a look of intrigue and Rye drops a tiny, white snowdrop flower in her palm. There had been some melting this week, these must have been the first flowers uncovered from the snow. Prim smiles brightly as she holds up the tiny flower, its stem drooping and petals pointing downward like the back of an old miner.

"I love it," she says with a bright smile.

"It's called a snowdrop," I say, remembering the page from the family plant book. I've never actually seen one. "Dad always said they were good luck."

Prim finds a glass of water and drops the stem inside, letting the flower lean over the brim. Rye looks pleased with himself. While Peeta and Prim clicked naturally, Rye has had to try a little harder. He's more brash than Peeta, more blunt. He's never really bothered trying to be friends with girls. He told me it's easier with me because I'm "not like a girl." The desire to befriend my little sister, _our_ little sister, is endearing though, which is a word I never thought I'd use to describe Rye Mellark.

Our parents dance awkwardly around one another, trying not to touch as they move around the kitchen. Dinner is served, the three boys on one side of the table, the three of us on the other. Things are polite, if not boring. There are lots of quiet pleases and thank yous. It's not until I flick a piece of mashed potato and it lands directly on Rye's plate that laughter erupts. He attempts to retaliate and a blob lands inches in front of my setting, clobbering the side of the salad bowl.

"You don't want to fight me," I threaten playfully. He attempts to fling the potatoes at my face. I duck skillfully and respond, my weapon finding its mark as his forehead becomes plastered with the buttery mess.

"Oh that's it," Rye says with a laugh, pushing himself up from his chair. I bolt away and we end up darting around the island in the kitchen. He reaches for me uselessly as Prim giggles. My mother starts chiding us and Mr. Mellark does his best impersonation of a stern parent. Everything feels gay and light until the anthem of Panem blares across the kitchen and the television in the living room flips on with a burst of light.

I think back to last night, trying to fall asleep at Peeta's and failing miserably.

 _"Whatcha thinking about?" Peeta asks softly, tucking a piece of stray hair behind my ear._

 _I just look at him, the words stuck in my throat._

 _I feel like I'm failing at our small rebellion. If I hear Haymitch tell me_ it takes time _once more I'lI rip my hair out of my head. I'm so frustrated I could scream._

 _"I don't know how to do this," I say, ambiguous enough. "I'm no good at planning. I react."_

I didn't know then that it wouldn't long before I had something to react to.

We all walk toward the living room in silence as the mandatory broadcast fills the room. Prim says the kids at school mentioned something about my wedding dresses, although I don't see how that's possible since Cinna only sent me the sketches a few days ago. At first it seems like nothing – like Prim is right. It's just a puff piece on the wedding. The audience voting on any number of hideous gowns that I might be forced into for our fake wedding. My eyes drift to the window and notice the sun has set over the horizon and night has started to creep over the sky. We stand there, staring at the screen, but the broadcast doesn't end when the last dress has been voted on. Our host indicates there is a special announcement coming up.

"It must be the reading of the card," my mother mumbles. Mr. Mellark nods. I have no idea what that means, but I find myself holding my breath as I stare at the television. Bile rises in my throat when the President takes the stage escorted by a young boy dressed entirely in white. The boy carries a polished wooden box in his hands which he places on a small table on the stage in front of Snow. The table reaches the President's waist.

Snow's voice booms as he explains about the Quarter Quell – how every twenty five years they mark the anniversary with a special Hunger Games. He takes his slippery hands and runs them along the box, finding the clasp and unhooking it. He pulls back the lid and slides his fingers along whatever is inside until he snatches from the box a plain white envelope with the number 75 embossed across the front. Snow takes a shiny blade from the table and runs it under the seam of the envelope.

I don't know when Peeta took my hand, but I feel his palm burning against my own.

Snow unfurls the paper to reveal what awaits those in the Third Quarter Quell.

"On this, the seventy-fifth anniversary of the surrender of the rebel forces and the Third Quarter Quell, as a reminder that those who lead the rebellion only lead their fellow man to ruin, each Tribute shall be accompanied into the Arena by one of the district mentors, to be reaped from the pool of existing victors."

It takes a moment for my brain to process. Mentors are going into the Arena. Victors.

Peeta. Me. Haymitch.

I forget how to breathe. My eyes blur. I can feel all the eyes in the room shift to Peeta and me. I feel like I'm looking through a wall of smoke. Before I can process, my legs take off and I sprint out the door and into the black night.

"Katniss!" I hear Peeta scream behind me as he takes off in pursuit. "Please stop! Please! It's dark out!"

I hear the threats of the new Head Peacekeeper ringing in my ears. _Anyone caught out after dark will be shot on sight!_ I don't care. I can't be here. I can't be surrounded by my family and his. I need to think. I need to breathe. I need…

My legs give out and I drop hard on my knees in the late winter snow.

Peeta sits in the snow beside me, his pants growing wet and cold.

"Kat," Peeta starts gently, but I shoot my hand in the air. The words feel like vomit in my throat.

"He's going to make me choose," I say, my voice dark. Peeta looks at me. "He's going to reap Prim, and he's going to make me choose between her and you."

It's quiet for a moment as the realization sinks in. It's real. I said it out loud, and now it's real.

"But we already chose," Peeta says back, his voice even. "Prim comes first," he recites the words I made him promise me all those weeks ago. _Promise me_ , I demanded. _Ahead of you and me and everyone and everything else, Prim comes first._ We stare at each other, neither of us knowing what to do.

We go to Peeta's and lock the door. The rest of the Mellarks are stuck at my house anyway. Curfew.

We stoke the fire and sit in front of it as the flames flicker consuming the dry wood.

"Katniss," Peeta says, his hand finding my hip. I turn and look at him. There's nothing left to be said. There are no words that will make this better, that will say what I want to say, that will heal or help or repair what is so unfixably and permanently broken in the world. So I forget about words. I lean forward and press my mouth to his. Peeta's hands immediately move to my hair, tugging slightly as he moves his lips against mine. He leans forward and I drop on my back as he hovers over me. My hands fumble with his belt buckle and he grabs mine to still them.

"Not like this," he whispers against my mouth, and I feel a single tear escape my eyes and run down my face, over my ear, and drip onto the floor. I drop my hands and curl away from him. Hours go by. When he finally drifts off I stare at the flames and try to find comfort in his even breaths. Now I'm just counting them down. The number of breaths he has left in his lungs is finite. Tens of thousands, but a finite number. There's an end.

I can't do this.

I leave Peeta asleep on the floor in front of the fire. I creak open the door and sprint across the lawn to Haymitch's house. I hear Peeta's worried voice in my head but shake it off. Snow wouldn't kill me now for being out after dark. He wants to kill me in front of an audience. I roll up my fist and pound it on Haymitch's door. He opens it with a jerk and nearly loses his balance, gripping the door for support.

"Shoulda known the night wouldn't keep you off my step," he slurs, stepping back and letting me inside. He's drunk. He's very drunk, but still lucid enough to look me up and down and read me the way he's always been able to. The way my mother never has.

"Go ahead. Let's hear it," he says, gesturing with his hands. I open my mouth but I don't really know what to say. Haymitch does it for me. "You want me to volunteer if they call Peeta's name. You want me to save your boyfriend's life," he says, the sloppiness nearly evaporated from his voice.

"I… I need to be able to focus on Prim. And I can't do that if…" I hate myself.

We both stare at each other.

"I don't understand!" I practically shout. "I don't understand," I say, the rest of my words falling out of my mouth quickly and without thought, all concern for the listening devices gone. "This change… It's just going to make the districts even more angry. It's going to make the Capitol look cruel. I don't understand… I don't understand _why_."

"Because he's forcing the cruelty back on the Districts," Haymitch says, leaning against the doorframe.  
"We all point fingers at the Capitol, call it the murderer of children. All Snow has done is put the blood on _our_ hands. The second a Victor kills a kid, the façade of us being different from them is over. The Districts will divide, pitting against each other for the crimes in the Arena."

I realize he's right. The moment a Victor kills a small child, those two Districts will suffer a wound we can never repair. It's an act of violence, of war. It will create a rift, a schism, and uncrossable divide between our people. My brain won't process it, won't allow it to be true.

"That's ridiculous. We'll protect the kids as best we can," I ramble.

"No. _You_ will, Katniss. It's life or death in there. You have no idea what these people will do to survive. Not everyone's a saint," he states and a cold feeling washes over my body. Who would I kill to keep Prim alive? I feel sick.

"If Peeta's name is called…" I start, but I can't say it.

"If Peeta's name is called, I'll volunteer," Haymitch says back. Relief washes over my body, followed immediately by nausea. Haymitch in an Arena is a death sentence. Those words from his mouth are suicide.

"Why?" I say, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my pulse in my ears.

"I thought at least that part was obvious," Haymitch grumbles as he slides a glass bottle heavily across the wooden table and draws it to his lips.

He loves us. That drunken, hapless old man loves us.

"Give that here," I say, my hand outstretched. He starts to protest, but instead of pouring the liquor down the drain I lean my head back and pour it down my gullet instead. Haymitch smirks.

"I'll get a glass," he slurs.

 **A/N: Sorry for the delay. It's been quite the week here. We found out my kitty has cancer. We immediately scheduled surgery and the vet CUT THAT SHIT OUT of him, however, it's been very stressful. Margins were good - hopefully we are out of the woods. Needless to say... been a little distracted. My furbabies are my life. So if you have any "cancer sucks" vibes you want to send our way, we'll take 'em!**


	39. Chapter 39 - Waiting

I'm woken up by the sound of pounding on the front door. Haymitch grumbles and falls off the couch. I open one eye, but the brightness of the sun make my skull feel like it's being split by an axe, so I take the blanket and pull it up over my head. I curl up into a ball on the arm chair as I hear Haymitch open the front door.

"Well look what the cat dragged in," Haymitch says and I hear footsteps as someone walks past him and into the house. There's a rush of water and a clink as the empty liquor bottle from last night is rinsed in the sink and added to the collection. Finally, the intruder sighs and chair legs drag across the floor as Haymitch plops in front of the kitchen table. "Where's the girl?" Haymitch asks.

"Hunting. She goes to the woods when she needs space," Peeta says. I hold my breath, as if it might make me invisible. I barely remembering scribbling that lie on a piece of paper I left on Peeta's table. Is my hunting jacket in Haymitch's kitchen? The back of the arm chair is toward the men, but I try to keep still. My eyes dart around the room and I see my jacket thrown in a corner. We said no more lies, but I didn't have a choice. This one might save Peeta's life.

"So you thought you'd sneak over here while she was away and… _what_ , exactly?" Haymitch leads. I can hear Peeta cutting through the crust of a loaf of fresh bread. He probably therapy-baked a kitchen's worth. "Bribe me?" Haymitch says with a mouth full. It's a while before Peeta says anything.

"Haymitch," he starts. "In the last Games, you chose Katniss, right?"

It takes a minute for Haymitch to reply. The bread must feel like a rock in his throat. "Yeah, kid. I chose her," he admits.

"And when I got cut, and when I was by the river, when I was dying… You didn't send me anything. No medicine. No water. Nothing," Peeta says.

I hear Haymitch sigh.

"Because you chose her," Peeta repeats.

"Yes."

"So you owe me," Peeta responds firmly. I twist my body around and dare a look into the kitchen. I can see Peeta's back and Haymitch meets my eye over his shoulder. He gives the slightest head shake. _No. Don't. Stay_. Peeta is done waiting for a response. He gets right to it. He's here for the exact same reason I was. He wants something.

"There's only so many ways this goes. If Prim ends up in the Arena, you have to put this _choosing you think will survive_ bit aside. You choose Prim. Got it?"

Haymitch nods.

"If my name is called, I don't want you volunteering for me. Katniss needs you… _we_ need you on the outside, doing what you do best. I don't know how to get sponsors, how to strategize. Her best shot at survival in there is you out here. You two… you talk without words. You can help her in ways I will never be able to," Peeta argues. Some men might be angry or jealous. That's not who Peeta is. He only sees how to help others.

"So I pick Prim. I help Katniss. And what about you?" Haymitch asks.

"I don't care about me," Peeta says gruffly, pushing himself to his feet and crossing to the door. He turns back to our mentor, his heart on his sleeve. "Promise me, Haymitch. If my name gets called, you keep your mouth shut."

"I can't do that, kid," Haymitch says.

"You can and you will. You owe me. You have to swear to me, Haymitch. Do not volunteer. I don't want you to."

I want to stand up. I want to scream at Peeta. But I trust Haymitch. In this moment, I trust him to do the one thing I've always hated him for.

Lie.

"I promise."

When I finally stumble out of Haymitch's I decide to go home. As I walk through the door, my mother and sister rush forward and hug me tight. It makes me feel sick but I allow them to coddle. It will make them feel better. I tell the two hovering women I have a headache and they immediately begin pampering me. In some way, being the caretaker makes them feel like they might be fixing something. Unfortunately, nothing can mend what is broken inside of me.

I'm barely in bed before I realize I'm going to be sick. I rush to the toilet and hurl up last night's meal, except that it tastes like alcohol and burns my nose. I watch the mashed potatoes floating in the toilet water and remember laughing with Rye. Being playful. I was such a stupid girl. A stupid, foolish girl. I flush away the evidence and lean back against the bathtub. My skin is covered with sweat. I hear a soft knock on the door.

"Katniss?"

I lean over and turn the knob without bothering to get up. In my bathroom doorway stands Madge, cup of tea in hand.

"You look awful," she says matter-of-factly.

"I feel awful," I respond curmudgeonly. A rush of heat hits my face and I realize I'm going to be sick again. I pull myself in front of the toilet when I feel Madge's cold hands sweep my hair out of my face. When I'm finished, she flushes the toilet and pours water from the bathroom sink into a glass.

"Swish?" she says, not sure if I can hold anything down but certain I don't want bilious liquor in my mouth. I do and spit the water in the toilet.

She runs a wet wash cloth over my face and I watch her watch me. Her expression is calm, almost absent emotion. She's never been easy to read, but she's always been easy to like.

"Do they know you are hungover?" she asks, giving away a half smirk.

"I'm not hungover," I answer. She raises an eyebrow. "I think I'm still drunk, actually," I add, which makes her laugh.

We stay on the floor in the bathroom for a while, but eventually Madge gets me into bed. I don't know how much time passes, but when I open my eyes it's dark. I see the figures of Prim and Madge sitting in chairs next to my bed. Prim is sketching in a book and Madge is reading. It reminds me of Madge and me at lunch – silent partners in a conspiracy only we knew about. Prim shows Madge her picture and she smiles.

"You should show that one to Peeta. He'd be impressed," she encourages my little sister.

"He's still asleep on the couch downstairs," Prim says, always thinking of everyone else before herself.

My mom pops her head in. "Dinner," she says quietly, and I begrudgingly drag myself out of bed. We sit around the table. Madge stays. Haymitch shows up, mostly quiet as he ladles stew into a bowl. We all eat in silence, chewing and watching each other, wondering when the dam will break.

"How's your head?" Peeta asks. I mumble that I'm fine and keep eating. My mother tells Peeta to take the pot home with him and "feed the rest to the boys." He smiles gratefully and turns to me at the door.

"Coming or staying?" Peeta asks. He's not pushy, not insistent. It's a question. Are you coming home with me?

"Coming," I say, grabbing my coat. I watch Prim smirk and Madge playfully pinch her shoulder. "Night, little duck," I say, kissing the top of her head.

"I need to go too if I'm going to back before dark. Thank you so much for the meal, Mrs. Everdeen," Madge says, grabbing her jacket. She pauses for a moment as she discovers something in her pocket. She unfolds a piece of paper and finds Prim's drawing. "Thank you," she says with a smile, which Prim returns brightly.

The three of us head out into the near night air.

"Thank you for having me," Madge offers.

"Thank you for…" I just let it trail off. Peeta would be livid if he knew I was drunk with Haymitch. Madge just nods knowingly before she takes off running down the street. She'll need to keep pace in order to reach the Seam by dark, but her legs carry her as if she's weightless.

"I forgot she used to run," I say. The kids from the Seam never bothered with athletics in school. We didn't have time or any extra calories to burn. All three Mellark boys wrestled. Madge ran. She used to play piano, too. I wonder how many other things she used to do before she gave up her life. It all seems so pointless now. It was all for nothing. I'm going to die anyway. Peeta probably too, if Haymitch can't keep him out of the Arena. The sick feeling from this morning creeps back in.

"Yeah, she runs like the wind," Peeta says, watching Madge's figure until it slips down the hill and out of sight. A light flickers in his eye. An idea.

In the months that follow, we each cope in our own way. My mother and sister and ceaselessly optimistic, but I know it's a smile that disappears the moment I leave the room. Mr. Mellark seems to think he can fix things by baking enough bread to feed a small army. He tries to make things "easier." Mostly he's just another person to comfort. Rye jokes around, mostly pretending none of this is happening. Gale memorizes my family's plant book and quizzes me on it while we hunt.

Peeta becomes obsessed with training for the Arena.

"This time, we're the Careers," he insists. I throw myself into it, knowing the longer I'm alive, the better chance I have of saving Prim. We run. We lift weights. Even Haymitch, who grumbles and complains the whole time. We learn new skills from tradespeople. Rooba shows me a faster way to clean my game, what organs are edible and which are not. Thom shows Peeta how to build a pulley system with rope. Even my mother teaches all three of us some rudimentary medical skills – how to clean and dress a wound, how to make a splint. Madge runs with us, pushing us harder, faster, longer. At the end of every day my body hurts too much to move. I collapse in bed, tired and unhappy. Peeta stays up late studying tapes of other Games that Effie sent. I get up early to hunt and try to allow the woods clear my mind. At home, I let my mother fret and my sister fuss over me. It makes them feel useful.

I don't let myself think about the Reaping bowl with two slips of paper in it. Haymitch Abernathy. Peeta Mellark.

Madge spends half her time at the Hawthorne's and half up at Victor's Village. I'm so busy with training that she fills in where I can't. She helps Prim with her homework. She makes prepared snacks for Peeta, Haymitch, and me that are full of protein and taste sort of like chalk. She helps with Peeta's bread deliveries so we can focus on training. One night I fall asleep on the couch shortly after dinner. The bitterness of winter has gone, but the nights still have iciness in them. The wet grass frosts over with the slipping sun. I stir when Madge pulls a blanket up over me.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," she whispers. I sit up, my sore body protesting every little movement.

"It's fine," I say, spying Peeta asleep in the chair. I look to the kitchen and see the clean dishes lined up in the rack next to the sink. I keep my voice low. "Thanks," I add, pulling the blanket up over my shoulders. We sit quietly for a while. "You should stay," I say, but Madge shakes her head.

"The Hawthornes will worry," she answers, standing up straight. I know what she means though. Gale might do something stupid. "It will be less than five minutes if I run."

"Madge," I say, meeting her eyes dead on. There's something unsaid between me and the girl that gave me my token. One of my only friends. I worry less about my mother now that Madge is around. That maybe she will keep her from disappearing after I die. That when my sister comes home from the Games, Madge will take care of her. That they won't be alone.

After that night we leave the porch light on when Madge is staying the night.

Peeta and I grow more distant from one another, which I find frustrating and I blame him for. One night I'm cleaning the kitchen after dinner with Peeta's dad when he comes downstairs with his running shoes on. The days have grown longer, it won't be dark for at least another hour or so. Still, my body is aching from this week's training and I had been looking forward to a quiet night in. Peeta's worn out the tape player and we are waiting on a new one from Effie to arrive on the next train, so for once the house will be absent the screams of dying and terrified children as Peeta reviews Game tape after Game tape.

 _"I don't know how you watch this stuff," I tell him sharply._

 _"These people are going to be in the Arena with us," he says, scribbling down notes about the winning tribute's tactics and skills. "The more we know about them, the better."_

 _I just stare at the television as a boy picks up a heavy rock and smashes it into the side of a girl's head. I watch Peeta's face and he flinches for a moment, but then returns to his notepad and writes studiously. I turn my back and go to bed._

"I thought we'd have an early night," I say as Peeta ties one of the laces.

"I just want to get a few more miles in," he says determinedly.

I walk upstairs and turn the shower on. I untie the knot of sweaty hair from the top of my head. Even lifting my arms hurts. I run a comb through my hair as the room fills with steam. When I step inside the shower, I feel my muscles are melting. I press my forehead onto the tile wall and let the water run over me. Everything in my body aches. Today we did hours of cross training before a 10-mile run. I look at the bottle of shampoo and my fingers hurt just thinking about opening it. The bathroom door swings open quietly and a rush of cold air sweeps the room as it is closed again. I don't say anything, I just let the sound of the shower linger between us.

"Hey," Peeta finally says.

"Hey," I answer back.

"Look, I'm sorry but –"

"Don't," I interrupt, closing my eyes and focusing on the feel of the shower wall against my forehead. "I don't have it in me tonight."

I can't listen to a valiant speech. I'm not even really allowed to be angry with him. He's killing himself, spending the last few months of his life abusing his body and his mind not to keep himself alive, but to save our sister. I can't be angry at him tonight. I'm not allowed to be angry at him ever.

I just am.

But the anger slips from my skin when the shower curtain pulls back and Peeta steps inside. I go to turn around and face him when the word "don't" slips from his lips like it did mine. I feel his hands slide up my back and his strong fingers begin to knead my shoulders. A moan escapes my mouth and I hear him laugh lightly as he digs into my muscles. I'm in such a state of euphoria I feel like I'm floating above myself. He hands run down my back, my arms, my legs, until my fingers are pruned and every part of my body is relaxed. He fills his palm with shampoo and works it into my hair, scratching my scalp lightly with his nails. I feel my eyelids flutter shut and I focus on the feeling of his fingers in my hair.

"Okay," he whispers and I lean back and allow the water to run over my hair, washing out the soap and leaving it soft and straight down my back. When I pull my head out from the water I open my eyes and he's gone from the shower. I hear him brushing his teeth. I shut the water off and when I open the curtain Peeta's already in bed.

I pull a nightshirt on and crawl in beside him.

"Night," I whisper, but he's already asleep.

 **A/N: Apologies for my unannounced holiday hiatus. I hope you all had a lovely time with your family and friends! Back to writing!**


	40. Chapter 40 - The Reaping

When we are not training, we are tireless about the rebellion. If Haymitch is right, if the Games are going to rip the Districts apart, then we need to act before the Reaping. The workers in the mine slow production to a crawl. The Capitol responds by cutting wages and extending hours. Many sleep in the mine, the end of one shift and the start of the next barely hours apart. Eventually the Capitol stops sending money at all, but no one dares to stop working. The mine becomes a confinement of coal-lunged slaves. The next Parcel Day train comes with food rotted and infested with maggots. If Snow thinks this will break our will, he's wrong. That night the miners sabotage a rig and collapse an entire wing of the shaft. Let's see how the Capitol does with an energy shortage.

Word gets out to the other districts. 12 is pushing back.

But the months slip by unforgivingly until the Reaping is upon us.

On the day of the Reaping heat billows through the district. The air is stifling and sticky. My skin sheens in sweat as I dress in the clothes Cinna left for me. I look around my room and notice Peeta's belt coiled precisely and placed on my nightstand. I run my fingers along the loop over and over. We decided to spend the mornings with our families. When I come downstairs my mother and sister are quiet, mostly. Prim is wearing a pretty, pale yellow dress. Cinna kneeled in front of her when he gave it to her.

 _"Yellow always makes me smile," Cinna says. "Like you." Prim blushes._

There's a pounding at the front door and I feel as though my body tries to leap out of its skin. I shove myself in front of Prim, as if anything I do can stop what is coming. An armed guard greets my mother at the door.

"We're here to collect Miss Everdeen and escort her to the Reaping ceremony," he announces. I squeeze my sister's hand tight before I let go and slip out the door.

"Katniss, I love you," I hear my mother call out. I look back over my shoulder, not sure if I heard her right, and our eyes barely meet before the door closes between us.

Haymitch, Peeta, and I are marched to the square like pigs on the way to the slaughterhouse. I can feel the emotions in the square reverberating between our people – sadness, anger, hurt, love, pity. We stand there as the area fills, as rows upon rows of children are moved into designated areas. When we take our place on the stage, my eyes drop and scan the audience until I find my sister's tiny, blonde head. She smiles at me encouragingly, blinking back tears in her eyes. She's trying to be strong for me. She deserves so much better than this.

We stand where Haymitch normally would. He's always been alone here. I try to look at him but he avoids my gaze, eyes locked straight ahead.

The mayor gives his speech. It all seems very mechanical. There are four glass bowls lining the stage instead of two. "Victors first!" Effie says, lacking her usual effervescence. Effie appears as though she's tried to hide her despair with an extra layer of make-up, but in the heat of the summer sun she almost looks like she's melting. She crosses to the glass bowl with just one slip of paper in it. She fishes it out of the bottom and calls out my name clearly, although lacking any enthusiasm at all. I join her at the front of the stage. I don't smile or cry. I refuse to give them anything. Effie swallows as she crosses the stage to the far bowl, with two slips of paper inside.

I close my eyes. _Peeta Mellark. Peeta Mellark. Peeta Mellark._ Just say it.

"Haymitch Abernathy!" she announces, but the words aren't even off her tongue before Peeta cuts in.

"I volunteer as Tribute," he says, stepping forward. I'm dizzy with emotion. I feel a single tear slip down my face and I quickly wipe it from my burning cheek. I won't to give Snow the satisfaction. Peeta tries to meet my eyes across the stage but I'm so angry, so hurt, so stupidly and hopelessly in love with him that I can't bear to look. I stare at the wooden panels of the erected stage.

"And now, for the children!" Effie proclaims and my head snaps up. I find my sister in the crowd. She looks at me as Effie's painted nails swish through the pieces of paper before she finally decides on one and lifts it into the air. I refuse to blink, to miss a moment with Prim. I feel Effie deflate next to me, and I know what's about to happen before it leaves her lips.

 _"Prim," I start, pulling her blanket up to her chin. It's a hot summer night, but Prim can't sleep without a blanket covering her. She's been that way since she was a baby. I remember when her hand was so small it wrapped around my finger. I clear my throat and meet her curious gaze. "There's a chance your name will be called tomorrow."_

 _"There's a chance every year," she says back._

 _"I know, but…" I don't know how to do this. I play with one of her flaxen curls in my fingertips, twirling it around as I try to prepare her. "If they call your name, I want you to be strong. Show everyone what a brave girl you are." We'll need sponsors. Pity won't help her in an Arena. I want people invested in her even after I'm dead. It's already begun. I'm her mentor. "Hold your head tall. Show them that we Everdeen girls are tough." She chews the inside of her cheek, a habit we both do when we're thinking._

 _"When they call my name–"_

 _"If," I nearly choke out, but she's already realized._

 _"I can be brave like you," she says._

 _"That's funny, I always try to be brave like you," I laugh softly, thinking of my sister in times of crisis. Some bleeding miner on our table, Prim's head calm and cool as she helps my mother. "You'll still have me in there. I won't ever leave you, I promise," I whisper. "So if they call your name…"_

"Primrose Everdeen!" Effie declares. The gasp from the crowd is deafening, the silence that follows is even more so. Prim locks her jaw and straightens her skirt before a guard grabs her arm and rips her out of line. She keeps her head tall, her chin up as she prepares to march up to the stage. _I can be brave like you._ The Peacekeeper shoves her forward and I'm about to leap from the spot and claw his eyes out when a voice rings out over the crowd.

"I volunteer!" a girl calls out, her tone firm and bold.

For a moment I don't believe it's real, but the crowd is reacting just as confused as I am. Everyone looks around until they find the volunteer. The people around her back away, and Madge Undersee steps forward and kisses Prim's head before she meets my eyes. "I volunteer as tribute."

"Madge no!" Prim says, but the guard is already shoving Prim back into the line of children as Madge starts walking toward the stage.

"No!" the mayor cries out. "It's too late. Surely the time for volunteers has expired!" he says desperately, his eyes shooting to the adjudicators on the side of the stage. They shake their heads and the mayor takes one of the clocks from the table and smashes it on the stage. A Peacekeeper steps forward and escorts him from the platform as he hollers and pleads for mercy for his daughter. Madge fixes her eyes ahead and refuses to look at him. She climbs the stairs and takes her place next to mine. I don't know what comes over me, but I loop her hand in mine. Her palm is wet with sweat and her fingers are trembling, but she doesn't let it reach her face. Peeta crosses the stage and takes her other hand. We stand and wait for the next name to be called. Effie hurries over to the final bowl, trying to end the ceremony before sheer chaos erupts.

"Arin Cartwright!" Effie calls out. Everyone is quiet as tiny Arin joins us on stage. He's the youngest of the Cartwright family, barely Reaping age. He looks no more than eight or nine. His blonde hair is nearly white and he's swimming in the pants he's wearing, which are cinched around his waist and bunching at the belt. I find Rory Hawthorne in the crowd, shifting on his feet. I try to catch his eyes but instead they shoot up to Madge. It's almost imperceptible, the movement of her head as she shakes her head no.

Arin takes the stage, nervously tripping on his pant legs before he stands next to Peeta. After months of training, Peeta dwarfs the child. I can hear the commentators now – Arin Cartwright will be an easy target. But instead of weighing how he might kill his competition, Peeta reaches down and offers Arin his other hand. He looks up at Peeta, unsure, and Peeta nods gently. Arin takes his hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the tributes for the seventy-fifth annual Hunger Games and Third Quarter Quell!"

 **A/N: Short one but I wanted to get it out ASAP.**


	41. Chapter 41 - Reactions

**Madge**

My ears feel like they are burning, like they might set my hair on fire. I turn back to the Justice Building and Arin and I are escorted inside. Behind us, the door begins to close, capturing Katniss and Peeta on the other side. I barely catch two Peacekeepers take position in their glossy white uniforms, rifles readied, blocking our mentors from the building. Another grabs Katniss and I see her eyes shoot desperately outward. I'm sure she's trying to find Prim.

"Wait! I get to say goodbye!" Her scream is eaten as the door closes entirely.

Arin looks up at me. I give him a small smile, but I have hardly anything to offer. We look around. I've spent a lot of time in the Justice Building. I practically grew up here. I know the tile on the far wall under the window is cracked from when I knocked over a pewter sculpture of the Capitol seal when I was seven. I know the curtains in the mayor's office reach all the way down to the floor and if I'm really quiet I can hide there without anyone knowing. I know the room they leave me in, an old office that turned into a storage room for old papers when its occupant passed away a few years ago. There's a slight dust settling over everything. I sit and wait.

My father doesn't come. I wonder if he was jailed or punished somehow. Would they put the mayor in the pillory? I try not to think about it. If I think about his face for even a moment I'll lose my courage.

My mother doesn't come. She probably has no idea I've been reaped. I wonder if my dad will even tell her, or if that will be the final piece of heartbreak before she slides just a little too much morphling in her next syringe.

I stare at the clock. Nearly all of my time has gone by.

Maybe they didn't let visitors in. Maybe…

The door swings open and a guard announces briskly, "Your mother is here."

My heart leaps to my throat and I feel like I can't breathe. It's like I'm just going through the motion but no air is entering my lungs. Through the door walks the only mother I've ever known.

Hannah.

I immediately break down crying. Hannah steps forward and I bury my face in her neck as she strokes my hair softly. I soak the collar of her maid's uniform. She doesn't say much aside from a few comforting hushes.

"Shhh, Miss Undersee," she comforts.

"Don't call me that," I choke.

"Madge," she says softly, and it's the last word she speaks. There's nothing she can say. But she doesn't need to say anything. She's there. The guard abruptly ushers her out when the time is met. I wipe my face and try to pull it together when I see my next visitor has arrived – Hazel. She's carrying a parcel in her hand.

"I always bring this," she manages to get out. She swallows hard. "Just in case… So if one of my kids is reaped, they'll have something from me with them." She places the parcel in my hand and I realize what she means.

I'm one of her kids. For a little while, I had a family. A real family.

I start to pull at the string keeping the parcel together but she stops me.

"Not here. Wait until you need something from home," she says before she rises from her seat. She cups my face in her hands. "You, Madge Undersee, are a brave girl."

"No I'm not," I whimper. I'm terrified. I can barely breathe I'm so terrified. I'm going to die. I look at her and my eyes sting. "I'm so scared," I breathe, the words spilling from my lips before I can stop them.

Hazel locks her eyes with mine.

"There is no such thing as bravery without fear. You can't be brave if there's nothing to be scared of. Being afraid doesn't make you any less brave. It makes you more so. I am so proud of you," she says, and for the first time since I volunteered, I feel a little more sure that I did the right thing.

When the guard appears at the door to take Hazel out a familiar shadow stands behind him.

"Five minutes," he orders as Gale steps into the room.

"Hi," I say stupidly, but Gale just steps forward and presses his mouth to mine. It takes me aback. Aside from that one kiss after the whipping, which I'm not sure he even remembers, we've barely touched. But something feels so right, so real, so sure about him that I can't help but kiss him back. When we break apart he is visibly shaken and trying to hold it together.

"I'm sorry," I start, but he's talking over me.

"I love you," Gale spits out. I start to speak but he just keeps going. "You are not going on that train without knowing that I love you and I believe in you. And I hate you, Madge." His voice breaks. "I hate you for being this brave and this caring and this right about _everything_ all the time. Do you have any idea how annoying that is?" I feel a tear drop down my cheek and I quickly wipe it away. "I believe in you. I believe you can do this."

What _this_ is, he and I probably disagree.

I hug him close and I feel him start for a second before he melts into me. I bring my lips to his ear. "If it comes to it," I whisper, thinking of Prim and Posy and Rory and my dad and Hazel and everyone I love I'm leaving behind. "If it comes to it, you get out of here. You go to Thirteen, and you take them with you."

Gale pulls away and realizes what I'm saying. It's a contingency plan. If I can't come back, when I _don't_ come back… He still needs to keep them all safe. It's a promise he made to Katniss. It's a promise I'm forcing him to make to me.

"Promise me you'll try," Gale stammers, and I remember watching Katniss's interview last year. Promising her sister she'd try. I remember visiting her in this moment. I remember feeling so utterly empty leaving her there. I'd never seen a dead girl still breathing before.

"I'm not like Katniss," I stammer, the reality of everything finally sinking in. "I don't hunt, I don't know how to survive. I don't know how to do anything."

Gale cups my face and looks me dead in the eyes. "You _run_ , Madge. If something is happening, and you can't see a way out, you _run_. You hear me?"

I nod.

When I get on the train, I'm not sure what to expect, but Katniss is waiting for me, pacing. When she sees me she rushes forward.

"Why did you do that?" she asks desperately.

I close my eyes and I see Gale, bleeding and delirious with pain. I see the Hob burn. I see children sitting next to me in class, ripping the corners off their paper with skinny fingers and chewing it in their mouths, looking for anything to calm an acidic empty belly. I see a desperate woman stuffing coins into her dress as she stumbles drunk or high from Cray's cabin, grabbing the hand of a waiting child and finally buying them something to eat. But then I see Katniss. Defiant. Holding the berries. Refusing to let the Capitol win. Standing up to a Peacekeeper, blood dripping down her face but jaw locked. It's all anyone talks about in 12. She pushed back. They watched it right in front of them. She's different, even if she doesn't see it. I open my eyes and meet hers, stormy and gray and confused and worried and grateful and mad.

"Because you are the Mockingjay, Katniss. You are the voice, the symbol. The person that will lead our people to end of all this. And you wouldn't be able to do that if you died for Prim," I say with more certainty than I've felt in a long time.

"This rebellion will outlive me. The fight for freedom will outlive me," she refutes. Her words penetrate my heart and I immediately know I've done the right thing. She has no idea the effect she has on people.

"Don't say that to me, Katniss," I say, my eyes looking out the window, scanning the crowd gathered at the train station. "Say that to _them_." Over their heads we see the square, where Snow's face is plastered across a television screen. Her eyes follow mine. "Say that to _him_."

 **Peeta**

I'm waiting for Katniss outside the door to her room, but when she sees me sitting on the floor she turns quickly and storms off in the other direction.

"Katniss! Katniss, come on!" I call out and she slams to a stop, spinning on her heels to face me.

"What, Peeta? What? You're sorry?" Her words sear. I've never seen her this angry.

"No, I'm not sorry," I answer right back.

"Well then what?" she snaps. I reach for her hand and she rips it away from me. "No. No! You don't get to do that. You don't get to volunteer to die and then act like we are okay. Like I should just be okay with it!" Katniss turns away from me and faces the wall. I hear her breathe. She drops her hands heavily at her side before turning back to me, resolute. "I'm not letting you die. Period. I don't care what destiny you've all laid out for me. I'm not special. I am _not_ a hero."

I'm not sure what she's talking about but her chest is clenched as she tries to breathe through the panic.

"I'm not letting you go. I can't –" She chokes on her words. "I _won't_ let you die in there."

I want to wrap her in my arms, but she doesn't want that. I want to hold her and let everything feel like it's not real, just for one moment. But it real.

"Katniss," I start, and she flashes me an indescribable look. It's a mix of loathing and love that makes no sense, but it plays across her face like one of those Capitol movies. She said it once before - that she loves me. It's never been said again. Sometimes I wonder if I made it up. But the way she looks now… There is no denying that the girl on fire is as in love with me as I am with her. An anger that I've managed to suppress up until this point starts boiling in my stomach. I finally have this… I have finally have _her_ … And the Capitol wants to take it all away. Well if Snow thinks I'll give him Katniss without a fight, he has another thing coming.

"This isn't an argument either of us is going to win," I say, and in those words she knows I'm right. I will die for her. She will die for me. It's just a race at this point. I step toward her and her head drops to my shoulder. She stays that way for almost a minute before she straightens her back, turns, and walks down the hall away from me before she pauses.

"Coming?"

 **Haymitch**

I stand in the bathroom of my compartment when I feel the train start moving. I pull a flask out of my pocket and take a long swig of white liquor. I stare at the bottle as I swish the white liquor between my teeth, savoring its flavor before I finally swallow. It used to burn, but it doesn't anymore. I feel it warm my stomach, though. I feel that comfortable wooziness settle in my eyes. I turn the bottle over and pour the rest of its contents into the toilet and close the lid.

I told Effie I wanted the train dry.

I need to focus. I sit on the bed and stare at the white wall. It stares back and offers me no answers. I won't have a lot of time. Once we are in the Capitol, the plan will start unfolding faster than I'd like. It doesn't change things. Madge volunteering doesn't change things. I reach in my pocket and feel the piece of paper folded within. I run my fingers over it, feeling the corners, making sure I didn't drop it like the fool that I can be when I'm drunk, but it's there.

This message goes to Plutarch. This sets the plan in motion.

I wanted the kid's name called. I wanted the chance, just once, to know I could for certain save someone. But once again I'm set up as the clown that marches his tributes to death.

Forty-eight. I buried forty-eight kids so far.

But it's all just a gamble again. Any one of thousands of tiny steps could go wrong. I might never pull him out of the Arena.

I wonder if Peeta's name was even in there.

I stare at the toilet through the open bathroom door and ponder if any liquor still stains the side of the bowl. I roll the flask in my fingers for a moment, considering, before I get up and slam the door to the bathroom shut.

 **Effie**

When I catch myself in the mirror my stomach sinks a little. Is this what I looked liked? Possibly the cameras were more forgiving. I feel the worry vibrating in my skin and sit in front of my vanity. I remove the many hair pins and detach the golden wig from my head. I can see my bleached hair tied back flat under the black hair net. I pulled it back so tight I practically gave myself a face lift, but the pain provided something to focus on instead of the feeling of dread as I took the stage this morning.

My darling victors!

I wash my face and begin carefully reapplying my base. I don't understand how we got here. And poor, pretty Primrose. What terrible luck! The sinking feeling in my stomach does not subside and I start to wonder if it is my thoughts rather than my looks causing it. How unlucky can one little girl be?

Perhaps it had nothing to do with luck at all.

I shake my head and focus on contouring my nose, but this sinking feeling begins to feel more permanent inside me.

 **Madge**

We sit down for a meal and my eyes nearly explode from my head when I see the amount of food placed before us. I can tell Arin is nearly salivating. He's not from the Seam, no, but his family is among the poorest in the merchant class. Many merchants and even some miners will leave small gifts of gratitude on the steps to their shop. Even in times of crisis – the bitterest days of winter, the hottest days of summer – they never gouge their prices or bat an eye to one in need. It also means they hardly have any money.

The Cartwrights are impossibly optimistic. Every last one of them. I think watching Arin board the stage was the first time I saw him frown. Delly cried for days after Peeta was reaped, but once the Games started she was unceasingly hopeful, to the point of irritation. I remember her talking about how Peeta was just "resting" as he laid on the shore of the river bleeding to death and suffering from infection.

I wonder what it's like in their home now, with little Arin gone.

Peeta, who spent many a morning with the Cartwrights, pinches Arin under the table.

"You don't have to just stare at it. You can eat whatever you want," Peeta offers. Arin meekly reaches out and takes a spoon to scoop out a mountain of roasted fingerling potatoes. The pile inevitably topples over and tiny potatoes go rolling across the floor.

"I'm so sorry!" he stammers as he drops to his knees, but instead of chastising him, Effie Trinket begins to laugh. I shoot her a look like she's grown another head. This is not the Effie I've seen on television. She always seems so prim and proper and neat as a pin, but here she is nearly cackling over spilled food. Haymitch, Peeta, and Katniss seem just as surprised as I do, because when Effie notices all four of us staring at her she quickly snaps back into character and tells us it is rude to gawk.

When Arin returns to the table, he drops the handful of floor potatoes onto his plate and begins to eat them. That seems to be too much for Effie, because she starts laughing until tears stream down her cheeks. In only a moment, though, she's gone from laughing to crying. She weeps openly at the table and none of us know what to do.

"Excuse me," she chokes out before she stands from her seat and scurries off to her room. Haymitch stands, placing his napkin on his plate and follows her down the hall.

The four of us just stare at each other.

"Eat up," Peeta orders, and we do.

 **Peeta**

Katniss showers until her skin is pruned and her mind is clear. I know she spent all that time thinking, ruminating, scheming. I doubt she even washed her hair. I brush my teeth and climb into bed, watching her through the open bathroom door. She spits toothpaste in the sink and stares at it for a while before she turns on the faucet and washes it away. She climbs into bed, but even in my arms she feels a million miles away from me.

She sits up, fidgeting, and pulls the knot of hair from the top of her head. Katniss perches on the edge of the bed, chewing the inside of her cheek while she braids her hair. I watch her fingers folding the pieces in, twisting and wrapping slower than she normally does. She doesn't even need to look, instead her eyes are distant, like her mind has run away.

"Kat," I say in an almost whisper. _Come back to me._ Her eyes flit to mine for a moment. I sit up behind her, sliding my hands under her shirt and up her back. I dig in gently; her skin is so soft under my fingertips I need to bite my lip to keep myself in check. I rub and soothe until the knots in her shoulders give in. She lets out a slight whimper when my thumb massages circles into the muscles along her spine. I feel myself twitch in my pants and I breathe through it.

"Peeta," she starts, her voice despondent. My hands still. _Don't go there. Don't live in the Arena before we have to._ But she turns around and looks at me.

"I know," I respond, taking her hand and squeezing her fingers tight.

She's quiet for a while, lost in her head. Sometimes she is utterly unreadable. She turns around and crawls into my lap, a leg on either side of my hips, her arms draped over my shoulders.

"Effie was so…. _sad_ today," she says. "Do you think other people were sad? Like, Capitol people I mean?"

I think about it for a moment. For the first time, the tributes weren't strangers. They were people they knew, faces they recognized. They knew what it felt like to watch someone they recognized be issued a death sentence.

"Yeah," I say after a while. "I think other people were sad, too."

Katniss nods thoughtfully, a silent symphony of reflection playing in her head. She looks at me, watching me. I almost wonder if she asked me a question that I haven't answered, but when I start to ask her mouth drops to mine. Her lips are so smooth and I try to bury a rumble in my throat. Her hands sweep back into my hair and she tugs a little. I twitch again and try to breathe through it, but when she rocks forward I know that's not what she wants.

"Katniss," I exhale into her mouth. _Stop. Slow down._ But she moves against me again and blood rushes through my body. I feel myself swelling and straining against my sleep pants. She drops her hand between us and I moan as she runs her fingers over me through the thin fabric.

"Shh," she whispers. "These walls are like paper."

It's true. Everyone on this train knows Katniss screams in her sleep.

Katniss leans her weight forward and I drop onto my back. She hovers over me, her mouth on mine as her fingers mess with the hem of my shirt. She lifts the band of my pants and slides her hand inside and my head drops back.

"Oh god," I groan as she wraps her hands around me. I feel her palm glide over my tip and a choking noise comes out of my throat. We haven't done this is so long. I can barely see straight as she begins to pump me with her fist. I throb against her strong fingers. Her mouth drops to my neck and she bites the skin lightly. My eyes flash open and I see her watching me.

"You're smiling," she whispers against my skin. A look comes over her face. "You haven't smiled in a long time."

I haven't smiled since I knew Katniss was headed back into the Arena.

"I like when you smile," she says. It's a funny thing for her to say since she's not particularly liberal with her own smiles. Katniss is more often caught scowling, but if you watch her carefully enough, they are frequently followed by the slight upturn in the corner of her mouth. I think she's prettiest when she smiles and thinks no one is watching.

Katniss returns her lips to my throat and her hands begin stroking me in earnest. I try to touch her back but she pins my wrist to the bed with her knee. She drops her head to my stomach and kisses my hip bone. I shoot up onto my elbows, the feeling of standing on top of a tall building sweeping through my body. She runs her lips across my stomach and I feel it flipping under her mouth.

"What are you doing?" I spit out, but she's already hooked her thumbs in my waist band and tugged my pants away. I'm fully in front of her now, hard and erect and utterly terrified. She runs her hand over me a few times and I watch and her fingers glide up and down my length. She drops her head and runs her mouth over me.

"Oh my god," I repeat, my voice guttural. I feel like my whole body is shaking. I feel harder than I ever have in my life. I feel like I'm ringing. Then her tongue swirls over me and I lose the ability to see. I can hear myself panting but I can't help it. She moves her hand with her mouth and I lift a trembling finger to push a piece of hair from her face. She smiles and it's the most amazing thing I've ever seen. Her head bobs and I moan into a pillow. There is no Reaping. There is no Arena. There is no Death. There is only her. Only Katniss.

I feel everything tighten and I beg her to stop, but she guides me through it until waves course through my body and I'm shaking against her lips.

She climbs up beside me and she's asleep within minutes. I watch her for a while, breathing and quiet. I didn't think there was joy left to have, but Katniss has reawakened me. As I watch her sleep, I promise myself I will do everything I can to keep her safe.

Katniss lives.

"I love you, Katniss Everdeen," I whisper, barely above a breath.

"I love you, too," she mumbles.

At least I think that's what she said.

 **Madge**

My room on the train is nice. Everything from the Capitol is nice. I don't think it's actually meant to spoil and lavish the tributes. I think it's meant to make us feel small.

I sit cross-legged on the bed, Hazel's gift in front of me. I play with the string, trying to wait, but feeling more lonely and scared than I have in my entire life. Before I know what I'm doing, I'm pulling the string free from the knot. I slide the paper away from the parcel and look at my gift.

Sitting in the center of my bed, tiny as I remember it seeming, is Mr. Hawthorne's loupe.

 _"What's this?" I ask, holding up a tiny piece of glass and metal shaped almost like an hourglass._

 _"Put that back," Gale says briskly, although I don't have an opportunity because he snatches it from my hand and places it back on the window sill above the sink. "That's not yours to touch."_

 _He's trying. I just remind myself he's trying. When he catches me staring at it, he softens a little._

 _"It's a loupe. It's sort of like a magnifying glass. It was my dad's. He liked to look at the rocks up close when they mined. Some are sparkly and full of mica. Others have shiny surfaces and depths of color. I have a whole box upstairs, of rocks my mom would find in my dad's pockets. He just… He knew how to look at the world different than the rest of us."_

When Gale's father died, they found his loupe amongst the rubble. It is, without doubt, a family treasure. Not just an heirloom, but a piece of their dad. Hazel has tied a string around it, and when I pull it over my head it falls onto my chest and rests just above my heart.

I feel just a tiny bit closer to home.


	42. Chapter 42 - Early Allies

I sleep maybe a couple hours before I wake up with a scream stuck in my throat. I swallow it and sit up. My body is covered in sweat. I look down at Peeta, who is sleeping on his stomach facing the wall. I want to wake him, but he's barely slept in the last couple weeks. The closer we got to the Reaping, the more restless he became. Now that he knows he's going in with me, he can sleep.

I go to the bathroom and strip out of my sweat-drenched sleep clothes then pulling on new ones. I bunch the dirty laundry in my hand and toss it in the hamper. I grab some of that minty green liquid they leave by the bathroom sinks and swish it around my mouth for minute until it burns so badly I spit it in the sink.

I owe her. Madge saved Prim for me, or rather for this idea she has of me - being a leader, a symbol. Being greater than I am. But whatever her reasons, she saved Prim and now I owe her an unpayable debt. I turn on the faucet and watch as the water drowns the green liquid still clinging to the white porcelain sink. I can't help but feel like maybe I'm also drowning Madge – overwhelming her with my current, pulling her under and flushing her away because of it. I shut off the water and sit on the edge of the toilet lid.

I can't repay Madge. I can't save her life, and Peeta's, and Arin's. I'm in this stupidly impossible situation. I shoot up from my seat and pace around the room, but the compartment is too small for me and soon I find myself marching around the halls, bitter and lost in thought, until I find myself in front of Haymitch Abernathy's door.

I knock quietly, hoping it's not loud enough to wake him if he's managed to pass out, but the door swings open. I guess neither one of us can sleep.

"Yeah?" he says crassly, although I quickly realize he's not even a little drunk. He smells like… soap.

"Can I come in?" I ask.

"I don't know, can you?" he retorts back like a child, although his tone is flat. He's not putting an effort into it.

"Never mind," I say, turning on my heel, but he grabs my elbow and hauls me inside.

"Just get in here," he grunts before closing the door. I take a seat in the chair by his desk and Haymitch sits on the edge of his un-slept-in bed.

"How you doing?" I ask awkwardly. We don't normally chit-chat. I'm not a chit-chatty girl. He's not a chit-chatty man. I wonder how many words he actually speaks when he and Effie beat us to the dinner table.

"Dandy," he answers sarcastically. "Look, I'm not in the mood for talking. You can stay here and avoid the kid if you want. But I'm going to put on some music and get to bed. It's late."

Haymitch gets up and crosses to the light switch, he acts like he's turning it off, but at the same time I notice his hand reach into his pocket and dig around before making a fist. He turns back to me and pulls a tiny device from his trousers, no bigger than a button from a dress shirt.

"It's an interferer. A friend of mine from Three gave it to me. It blacks out the cameras and overplays the microphones with music," he explains, setting it on the table.

"Seriously?" I ask, reaching for the device but Haymitch slaps my hand.

"You Seam kids, always so nosey," he says with a half-hearted grin. "So, what brought you here at three in the morning?"

"Madge," I answer and Haymitch chuckles.

"For once it's not the kid," he says. I roll my eyes.

"Madge sacrificed herself for me," I state.

"Girl's not dead yet, sweetheart," he corrects, but we both know it's only a matter of time.

"She said to me, when we were getting on the train, she said – _you're the Mockingjay_ ," I repeat. "That I was the face of something bigger."

Haymitch doesn't say anything. He nods, but it is more like he's acknowledging he heard me than agrees. I know he does though. I know he sees something in me. He saw it before anyone else. Except maybe Peeta, that is. I just wish I could see it, too.

"The resistance…" I start. I'm not sure where to go with the sentence but Haymitch just lets me waffle with my words. "Up until this point, we've been _resisting_. Slowing coal production in Twelve. Shutting down factories in Eight. We've been _resisting_ the Capitol."

"Yes," Haymitch agrees.

"I don't want to resist anymore," I respond. "I want to _rebel_."

It's the only way I know how to pay back Madge. It's the only way I live up to the hopes and expectations of the people in Twelve. And it's the only way to keep Peeta alive. If I die then maybe Peeta lives. His only way out of the Arena is with me in a casket. If I die a martyr and Peeta is the one that survives, that's even better for the rebellion, too. He's the wordsmith I could never be. He could take the grief of a district, of a nation, and turn it into a battle cry.

"What can I do to rebel in the Arena?" I ask. "When the whole nation is watching?"

"You could bring it down," Haymitch answers.

On the way back to my room I feel light for the first time in a long time. I feel free.

I drop back in bed beside Peeta. I stare at him, guilt washing over me. If this is going to work, if I'm going to do this, Peeta can't know. He will never, ever let me sacrifice myself. Haymitch seems to think I can pull this off without a death sentence but I know better. I try to convince myself that I'm lying for the rebellion. If the Capitol forces capture us, the fewer people who know the better. Right now it's just me and a few other tributes, the way Haymitch explains it. Others have peripheral awareness of the rebellion, like Peeta, but they have no specifics. Keeping my mouth shut is the right thing to do for Panem.

It's the right thing to for Peeta.

Either way, it's a lie. I roll over and look at him as he sleeps. It's a lie. He'll hate me for it, but I'll be dead anyway. I'll be dead, and he'll be alive, and I'll have gotten Peeta out. Maybe it will be easier to get over my death if he hates me. But I'm getting him out of the Arena, and that's all that matters to me.

I stare out the train window at the night stars glimmering against the black sky. They rush by the cracked window in a blur and I wonder if we're moving too fast, or if the stars are. I think about the roles we're cast in, this destiny laid out before us. I'm just a girl from the Seam. I shouldn't be anyone special.

Well, I defy you, stars.

I'll be the girl that takes down an Arena. The first arrow in the fall of the Capitol.

In the morning Arin looks pale at the breakfast table. He just pokes the food around on his plate. I remember how sick I got the first time I gorged myself on all the fatty Capitol foods.

"Eat through the stomach ache," I urge, nudging him gently. He needs to put on as much weight as he can before the Arena. I still haven't figured out if I'm tribute or mentor. Right now I feel more like a mother hen than anything. Arin nods and puts the eggs in his mouth, chewing and swallowing hard. He looks to me for approval and I smile encouragingly before he eats again.

"I never get her to smile that easy," Peeta tells him as Arin blushes. "You'll have to teach me some tricks."

Madge laughs to herself as she guzzles another glass of chocolate milk. When Haymitch and Effie enter, we all straighten our backs a little. Effie manages her politest salutations, but it's too quiet. Uncomfortably quiet. They sit, serving themselves silently. I remember our first meal with Haymitch, pleading for advice, getting nothing. I look at Arin again.

"Every time food is in front of you, I want you to eat as much as you can. Get as many calories as possible. Nuts are really good. Milk. Potatoes. That's your job until we get to the Capitol. Gain weight. Once we have access to the training rooms in the Tribute Center we'll focus on trying to bulk you up a bit," I state. Madge and Arin stare at me like I have two heads. "What?"

"Nothing," Arin says, shoveling another spoonful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

"They're trying to figure out how you might kill them," Haymitch says.

"I'm not killing either of you," I spit out, appalled. Arin stares at his plate.

"You aren't their mentor, sweetheart. You are their competition," the old man adds.

"Well then mentor away, Haymitch," I quip, my back dropping into my chair, my arms folding across my chest. I stare at him and he glares back.

 _Shut up and stick to the plan,_ he tells me silently with his eyes, but I have no interest in shutting up.

"We decide now," I announce. "Here and now. The four of us are going to stick together in there." I look at Peeta for backup, but before he can get a word in edgewise, Madge stands from the table and places her napkin on her plate.

"Thank you, but I can fend for myself," she says curtly and walks out of the room.

"What a polite girl!" Effie chirps. I look at her in utter confusion. "It is always polite to thank someone for an offer, even if it is simply to decline."

I go to follow Madge, but Peeta grabs my arm and stands up.

"I got this," he says softly before following Madge down the hall. I sit again and find Arin staring at me.

"Eat," I order gruffly.

"Yes, ma'am!" he says before chugging his milk with gusto. He looks back to me.

"Good," I say.

It's not long before the plates are cleared and we are dismissed. I wrap a muffin in a napkin for Peeta and head to the lounge car. At the desk on the far wall I find a piece of paper and being jotting down some notes. _Rope. Sleeping bag._ Things Arin could transport easily. I chew the inside of my lip as I consider weapons. I can't image him swinging anything with enough force to damage someone. Maybe a blade of some sort. I stop breathing when I hear words creeping in from the hallway.

"I just think it's a bad idea. I will slow you down. You should let me take Arin and…"

"You won't slow us down. You have skills, Madge. You set the snares with Gale, right?" Peeta interjects.

"Katniss can do that better than I can," she responds. "Stop looking at me like that, Peet."

"We are stronger together than we are apart," Peeta shoots back, but from the silence I know Madge is chewing over it. "Look, you go it alone and you get yourself trapped or hurt… If you think Katniss won't kill herself trying to rescue you, you are mistaken."

My stomach bubbles with anger at the accusation. I'm not stupid. But I know he's right. I could never leave her out there.

"Look, we –"

"Okay," Madge interrupts. It's quiet for a moment.

"Okay what?" Peeta finally asks.

"Okay I'll be allies with you," Madge responds.

Allies. And then there were 4.


	43. Chapter 43 - My Hero

The screams from the crowd are nearly deafening as they pour in through the opening train doors. I try to remember what Haymitch said. No smiling. No waving at the cameras. We are fierce. We are victors. He wasn't quite sure what to tell Madge and Arin. No one expects a first-time tribute to win this Quell. They are children going against trained and battle-hardened killers.

 _That's what I am_ , I think. I have Cato's blood on my hands. Marvel's. Glimmer's. That career from Four whose name I refused to learn. Even on the Victory Tour, I shut down my mind during the ceremony. I don't want to know her. I can't. I am a killer. I'm her killer.

When I look over I see Haymitch with Madge and Arin off to the side. "Just… smile, but be confident. Head's up," Haymitch orders.

"You told Katniss and Peeta not to smile," Arin objects.

"They already like Katniss and Peeta. Nobody likes you, kiddo," Haymitch says, tussling his hair. Effie nearly has a conniption as she drops to her knees in front of Arin and attempts to tame his already wild straw-colored curls. Arin takes a deep breath and steps forward toward Peeta and me.

Madge goes to follow and I see Haymitch grab her wrist. She turns to him and he adds under his breath, "You are a mystery to them. Why you did what you did. Who you are. Keep it up. Make them want to know more. Make them want to know you." Madge looks down for a moment, contemplating his words. She raises her chin and nods. The four of us step outside.

Peeta keeps his jaw locked as he slips his hand in mine. The blare of the throng of Capitolites is nearly unbearable. When I cheat a glance out, though, they aren't screaming at the ecstasy of being close to a celebrity. There are tears in their eyes. They are… They are _crying_. Peeta squeezes my hand even harder and I pull my eyes forward again. We are loaded into cars that look like somebody stretched them out. When Arin sits beside me his eyes are wide. Madge is nearly breathless. We are quiet most of the way to the Tribute Center.

When we arrive, my eyes don't quite know how to reconcile the scene in front of me. I remember the first time I entered these doors. Each of the tributes stayed as far from one another as they could, too terrified to even breathe. I remember one of the tributes dropped something. I don't remember who, or what it was they dropped, but I remember every one of us nearly leapt out of our skin as the sound echoed off the walls of the cavernous hall. That Tribute Center felt like a different place as we take in the scene today. The victors are loud, laughter ringing through the room. They embrace and hug one another, talking like old friends. The children are in various stages of confusion. Some are being hauled around by their Victor, being introduced or shown off like a prize cattle. Others are being ignored entirely and are busy pressing themselves into the walls in an effort to disappear. I want to approach them but Haymitch clears his throat and shakes his head. I can hear him thinking at me.

 _You can't save them all, sweetheart._

I look over at Peeta, who seems just as bewildered with the situation as I am. _I'm not even sure I can save one._

We are certainly the odd ones out. While the rest of the victors have spent years getting to know one another in the bonds of mentorship, Peeta and I are still strangers to them. Some of the Career tributes from Districts 1 and 2 are older than we are now. Whatever advantage I thought I had vanishes like a worm down a bird's gullet. I'm such a fool.

"Katniss!" I hear a voice call out brightly from across the room. I turn my head to see Finnick Odair making his way over, a young boy in tow. "Katniss Everdeen as I live and breathe!"

"Finnick," Peeta says with a stiffness about him that I can't place as genuine or not.

"And this must be the mayor's daughter," Finnick says, turning his attention to Madge, who immediately flushes. When you've never left your district, it's hard to remember anyone knows who you are, let alone the famous Finnick Odair. Finnick grabs her hand and kisses it, stealing a glance my way and winking. He smirks. "Don't be jealous, Kat. There's plenty of me to go around."

"I was more thinking remove your lips off my tribute or I'll remove them for you," I say with a sickeningly sweet smile. It only seems to encourage Finnick, though. He purrs like a cat.

"Is that a promise?" he asks.

"Alright, Finnick, that's enough," Haymitch says with a laugh, clapping his back and walking him away from our group. The blonde boy follows them silently. Finnick turns around and waits until the boy meets him, them wraps his arm around his shoulder.

Most tributes are not finding that kindness. When I look around the room, the reactions are dramatically different from one another. The Careers from Districts 1 and 2 are off to one side, bragging and showing off. I try to imagine taking down a Career pack twice the size of the last. I swallow hard and shift my gaze. The tributes from District 3 are both thin and pale. Lab kids, probably. The victors from their district are also slight and unimpressive. I'll have to ask Peeta about their tapes. Whatever they did to win, it must have involved outsmarting the other tributes. The four of them stand around awkwardly, seemingly unable to manage chit chat, even with themselves. The rest of the districts vary. I notice the female victor from District 7 rolling her eyes as two children pepper her with questions. Her fellow victor is nowhere to be found. Awkwardly dispersed amongst the tributes are the mentors – victors who survived the reaping, utterly unsure of how to play their role now.

"Come on," Haymitch grunts, returning to our clump of people. "Let's go upstairs." We follow him to the elevator and when it begins to glide upward both Madge and Arin grabs the walls. They've never been in an elevator before. Arin's probably never even seen one. The doors open upon our suite and we enter. I can't quite place why I feel relief, but in this moment I'm glad to be somewhere familiar and away from prying eyes. We show Arin and Madge around – the kitchenette, the living room, the dining area. There are two bedrooms on the first floor that I had never really noticed before. I assumed they were closets. The doors had always been locked.

"They had to make accommodations during the Second Quarter Quell," Haymitch explains. "This was actually my room," he says when he opens the door to Arin's bedroom. Arin looks around at the space that is quite a bit larger than the floor plan of his family's shop.

"This is all for me?" he asks sheepishly.

"Of course, dear! Isn't it marvelous?" Effie claps, finally relieved to have a tribute grateful for the luxuries bestowed upon them. "And Peeta, my dear, this is you," Effie adds, opening the door to the room with an adjoining wall to Arin's.

"But," Peeta starts, then closes his mouth. It would make sense to keep the boys together. Still, there's something sentimental about his room, even if all four are identical to one another. Maybe it's just having him nearer to me.

"You have a precisely ninety minutes to settle in, then dinner and the parade!" Effie says, her enthusiasm rebounding from the cry fit on the train.

"Thanks," Madge says and pads up the stairs to her room. Arin goes to his. Peeta looks at me. I wave awkwardly and he retreats into his room as well. Effie's eyebrows perk on her forehead as she looks expectantly at me. I turn and walk up the stairs, but pause at my door when I hear Haymitch's voice float from below.

"I see we have the happy little bot back," he comments.

"Well, someone has to keep a smile about them! I don't want the last days the children spend outside the Arena to be entirely bleary. You manage that enough of your own, Mr. Abernathy!" I hear a huff and the clicking of heels, followed by the door closing sharply.

I stare at my door, but then I look over at Madge's. I drop my hand from the knob and cross to her entryway. I knock slightly.

"Hey," I say when Madge opens the door. She gives me the warmest smile she can muster, but her eyes are dead inside. She's already surrendered. "I wanted to say…" Madge looks at me. I'm no good at words. "I wanted to say thank you. I didn't say that earlier. Or at all."

"You're welcome, Katniss," she says back, but it feels mechanical. She should be feeling something. Scared or excited or nervous we might get caught. Instead, Madge feels empty to me. Blank. Washed away. Like her heart is already dead inside her chest.

"Come with me," I bid, turning and walking back toward the stairs.

"But Effie said–"

"I'm your mentor, too. Come on," I answer. We head down the stairs and into the elevator that opens into our suite. We step inside and I hit the button for the basement.

"Where are we going?" Madge asks plainly.

When the doors open into the training center, Madge's jaw drops. The main area is locked up. We cannot reach the weapons or survival skills supplies. But there are weights. And there's a treadmill. I look back at Madge. She steps tentatively on the machine, but she's never used one before and looks back to me with a question on her tongue.

"Run," I say to her. The treadmill is smart. It moves based on the strength and direction of the runner's stride, intuitively picking up speed and slope as Madge pushes herself harder. I watch until she's moving in a way that seems almost impossible. Her legs glisten as they fly beneath her, but her feet aren't pounding into the ground. She reminds me of a deer. Weightless. I let her run until she's panting hard. I hit the red button on the machine and the belt starts to slow until Madge's feet land at a stop. She turns to me, her chest heaving up and down. I take her hand and I press it to her chest. I put mine on top of it.

"Feel that?" I ask, knowing her heart is slamming against her palm.

"Yeah," Madge pants, nodding slightly.

"That is my favorite part about you. That is what made you do what you did. And that is what will guide you when we are on the chariot, and doing our interviews, and inside the Arena. Don't shut it down," I say, my eyes glued to hers. "Okay?"

"Okay," she responds.

I don't know how to be a mentor. I don't know how to teach. All I know is my heart has guided every decision I made in the Games, not my head. Madge's heart is pure. She needs to trust it. I start to walk and I hear my name in the air behind me.

"Katniss?"

I turn back to Madge.

"You're my hero," she says, but it's so quiet I can't even make out the words.

"What?" I ask.

"You're my hero. It's why I did what I did. You're my hero," she says, clearing her throat and walking past me to the elevator. She waits for me inside. I walk across and step inside. "You're everyone's hero. You just don't know it."

I don't know what to say as the elevator doors close. I try to process in the seconds it takes to shove us back up the tube to our suite, but I've never been any good at that. When the doors open to our suite, though, a weight lifts off my chest and floats away at a flash of gold.

Cinna.


	44. Chapter 44- Someday

I stare at myself in the mirror. I'm wearing black from head to toe, leather blunting any girlish curve I have and making me look militaristic. Deadly. I'm not playing the innocent schoolgirl card anymore. I never was innocent.

"You haven't even seen my favorite part yet," Cinna says, reading my face. He presses a button inside my sleeve and the body of the jumpsuit comes to life. I'm not aflame this time. Fire is wild and unruly. Instead, I look like a piece of burning coal, smoldering and glowing. The black crown atop my head appears as though it's made from molten steel as it glows a deep orange. "The hottest part of a fire isn't the flame, it's the fuel," Cinna whispers. I feel powerful. In this suit I feel like I could burn Snow's ivory tower to the ground.

"You shouldn't have done this," I whisper, knowing what it will cost him. I turn to look at Cinna and he cups my face in his hands.

"We each have our own part to play, girl on fire," he says gently, stroking my cheek for a moment before dropping his hands. "And you!" Cinna announces, turning toward Madge. "You girls from Twelve are going to start making a name for yourselves with this bravery bit. No one is going to want to go up against the coal district."

Madge gives a half smile. Cinna is breaking down her walls bit by bit.

"I didn't want you to be identical. I hope you like it," he says, pulling the gown out of its garment bag. Madge lifts her arms over her head and he slides the dress down. It looks heavy but it moves about her with ease, flowing at her legs.

"Does it… Does it do anything?" Madge asks. Cinna smiles and looks up at the ceiling.

"Not unless you want to set off the sprinklers," he replies. Madge grins. It's the first time I've seen her really smile since we got here.

We head downstairs and find the boys waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Peeta is wearing a suit similar to mine. His shoulders are broad and all the work he did this sum mer shows. He doesn't look like a boy anymore. I feel his eyes all over me and he clears his throat and shifts his feet. Our prep teams adjust this or that. Madge flinches when Flavius twirls a piece of her hair.

Even though she's a thousand times more feminine than me, Madge is not one for withstanding physical pain. I think she's a little scarred from her prep session and strip down to Beauty Base Zero. _"I thought they wouldn't torture us until we were inside the Arena,"_ she hissed through her teeth at me while they ripped every bit of hair from her body that appeared below her neck. She was painfully shy, continually trying to cover up. I realized she's not a _thing_ yet. I've lost all modesty when it comes to Cinna and my prep team. I'm just a thing to be molded. Madge is still a person, I realized, as she clawed at a sheet and desperately tried to cover her legs. All the compliments about how much prettier and easier she was than me seemed to go in one ear and out the other.

Flavius doesn't even register her recoil as he fixes the lock of hair and steps back again to observe.

Effie piles us into the elevator and we take two cars to the start of the tribute parade. When we arrive I watch Portia preening Arin like a mother bird and the corner of my lip turns up. She glances up and catches me watching her. I drop my face and turn back to Cinna.

"When you feel ready, press here," Cinna says to Madge, who runs her finger over the button and nods softly. "You are in the carriage behind Katniss and Peeta. I've arranged for you to make quite the finish," he says, keeping his eyes locked on hers until she swallows the spit rising in her throat.

Peeta and I walk toward the end of the line, Arin and Madge following silently behind us, leaving our stylists, escort, and mentor to go find seats for the parade.

"Did Haymitch tell you anything?" Peeta asks, his eye brows perched, an unasked question on his lips.

"He didn't have to," I reply, I taking his hand and weaving his fingers in mine. We are going up there as one.

We find our places and two matching chariots with the number 12 emblazoned across the side. My eyes scan the rest of the districts and what I witness makes my stomach boil. We are the only district that looks like we belong together. The others appear to be competing with separate themes for victors and tributes. I find the tributes for District 7. The two victors are dressed viciously, shiny metal streaking their costumes to represent the axes and blades mastered by its residents. The children, on the other hand, and dressed like trees in long brown jumpsuits with awkward bits of leaves jutting out here and there. The metaphor is not lost on anyone. The victors are poised to cut those children down. It's _exactly_ what Snow wanted. Then I see the female victor from 7 turn back toward the kids and I realize one of them is calling to her. She makes a production of sighing and walking over, but when she reaches the girl, maybe thirteen years old, something about her posture softens. It's only for a second. If I'd blinked I might have missed it. The victor says something to the girl, whose back straightens with some newfound confidence, and then the woman turns back to her chariot and pulls herself up.

"That's Johanna Mason," I hear a voice hum and I turn to find Finnick standing by my chariot, stroking one of the horses and winking at me. "Watch out, she'll slice your throat open before you even know she's behind you," he warns. I look over and see Johanna looking over her shoulder, checking on the girl. She's a killer. They're all killers. I try to focus on Haymitch's warning. "Sugar?"

"Huh?" I look up and Finnick pops a sugar cube into his mouth. "It's for the horses, but with what little time we have left on this mortal coil, I say if we see something sweet, we take it." The words slide from his mouth as he moves nearer to me, and I realize he's so close I can smell the sugar on his breath by the time he's done talking. My gray eyes meet his green ones and I feel as though he's looking through me.

"Hey man, back off," Peeta says protectively, shoving Finnick away from me. A guard comes over and they are physically separated, but Finnick winks at Peeta while being hauled away and I immediately understand the two of them are playing at something. That's when I realize there's a slip of paper in my hand.

 _1 AM, north stairwell, bring Peet_.

I pretend to cough and shove the piece of paper in my mouth, chewing it stalely until I can swallow.

The horns blare and we take our place at behind the chariot. I watch Peeta wave at Madge and Arin with a confident smile, but when he turns his face back where only I can see, he looks tired. He hoists himself up into the chariot and turns around, offering me his hand. I grab it and he pulls me up. It feels so strange living this all over again. That the last weeks of my life are a reenactment of the worst days I lived. Peeta straightens my collar and my eyes meet his.

"Don't even look at them," he says softly, but there's a coldness there too. "They don't deserve you."

When I feel the horses pull my head snaps forward and we are towed into the street. Stands of people envelope us on either side, cheering and screaming. I hear Peeta's words in my head and lock my jaw, chin up. Peeta strokes my thumb with his for a second, then thrusts our linked hands into the air. I press the button on my dress and Peeta must do the same, because our black suits ignite. I'm glowing and fierce. I catch a glimpse of us in one of the jumbo screens that runs the length of one of the shops in town. I look terrifying. Suddenly, I hear the crowd gasp. I don't dare turn back, show weakness. I leave my face cool and turn to one of the screens and I see Madge. Her dress is billowing black smoke. The train whips behind her and it looks as if the whole chariot is engulfed in smoke. It whips off her back, through her golden blonde hair. The tips of the smoke burn white and I find myself almost bewitched as my eyes barely leave Madge. Then I see our two chariots whip past on the screen and what Cinna has done. He tied us together – victor and tribute. Our coal raging into smoke. We are a united front. As our chariots reach the front and come to a stop, we all turn off our outfits, but smoke is left billowing from Madge and Arin as though they'd just walked through flames and emerged untouched.

Snow's eyes scan the tributes and when he lands on me, I don't see the smug victory on his face I thought I'd see. I see anger. And I feel wonderful.

It feels like centuries before we're back in the Tribute Center.

I've barely pulled the last pin from my hair when there's a knock at my door. I'm too tired to do this right now. I can't be mentor and tribute and victor all at once. It's too much. I just want to crawl under the heavy weight of the blankets in my bed and pretend like I'm home, but the knocking persists.

"Madge, I –"

It's not Madge on the other side of the door. Peeta steps forward and kisses me, his hands sweeping back into my hair. He keeps walking and I let the door slip from my hand. It's like he's in a frenzy, kissing me like he may never feel my lips again. His tongue dips into my mouth and I feel my knees go weak. His hand is strong on my back though, and he steps forward until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the bed and I drop back. He crawls on top of me, his lips on my throat, his teeth, his tongue everywhere. I feel my chest panting for want of air but I'm too dizzy with desire to catch my breath.

"Peeta," I breathe as he trails his mouth along my collar bone. I feel my back arch off the bed of its own volition, my body reacting on its own. Every bit of me shakes as Peeta's hands slide up the back of my shirt and his lips move across my jaw before enveloping my earlobe, worrying it with his teeth.

I stop fighting it and kiss him back. My hands drop and pull his shirt from the waist of his pants, and Peeta's mouth breaks away from mine as my hands glide across his stomach. He pants as his eyes roll back into his head at the mere feel of my fingertips on his skin. My body hums underneath his, buzzing like I might spark electricity and catch these sheets aflame.

It's the knock on my door that breaks us apart. Peeta's eyes are wide, wary of the interruption. I flatten my clothes and shift everything back into place. Peeta looks at me, his lips swollen and eyes bright, and the knock returns, louder and more insistent this time. I cross to the door and open it to find Arin standing in the hallway, nearly in tears.

"Peeta's gone! I think they took him, Katniss! I think–" His voice drops off when he sees Peeta in my room. An "oh" slips from his mouth, and while I just expected him to sound surprised and maybe slightly embarrassed, it's the relief in his voice nearly breaks my heart. "I just thought… I don't know what I thought," Arin rambles. I know he's twelve, but he's young for his age. He barely looks a day over eight or nine – skinny and his body dwarfed by a mess of blonde, curly hair that shoots out in every direction. He thought Peeta was dead already. He thought the Games had already begun.

"You want to stay here tonight?" I ask. Arin looks startled but almost immediately relieved.

"Is that allowed?" he says back, looking up at me. His head barely reaches my chin.

"Peeta and I have never been ones for rules," I answer honestly. I'm trying to get a laugh but he's still so scared and he can barely move his face. Arin pauses for a moment.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do," he says. I hold the door open and he comes inside.

Arin falls asleep between us. Peeta looks over at me, pondering me in the dark.

"What?" I snap in a defensive whisper. Peeta grins.

"Nothing," he says. It's quiet, but after a moment he adds, "You're going to make a really good mom someday, Katniss."

Before I can say anything back, he drops his head on the pillow and drifts to sleep. It makes my chest physically hurt and I can't sort out why without wanting to scream into the night. It's a special kind of torture, that word.

 _Someday._


	45. Chapter 45 - Targets

I watch the clock while the boys sleep. My mind races. When it's nearly one, I reach over a shake Peeta. His eyes open blearily and he looks up at me.

"You okay?" he whispers.

"We have to go," I whisper back, then I remember the listening devices. _Meet Finnick_ , I mouth silently. Peeta looks confused for a moment, still half asleep.

"Right this second?" he asks. He knows Finnick was trying to communicate with me earlier. It's why he helped with the whole charade of them fighting over me. Peeta's eyes drop to Arin, who has somehow worked his way on top of Peeta's arm. "I can't, Katniss. What if Arin wakes up and we're both gone?"

I exhale with some exacerbation.

"Fine," I say, swinging myself out of bed.

"Katniss," Peeta says and I turn back to him.

I've never wanted to get married. I've never wanted kids. But in this moment, when I look back and Peeta has this little boy curled up beside him, I imagine what it might be like for Peeta to be a dad. With Arin's mop of blonde curls, wilder than Peeta's but the same gold hue, they could be family. Something in my chest swells uncomfortably.

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Tell me what they say," he asks more than says. He doesn't trust that I will. Before I can answer I hear a dull buzzing sound coming from across the room.

"What is that?" I ask. Arin sits up and rubs his eyes. I follow the sound until I reach my jump suit. It's buzzing like there's a june bug stuck in the fabric somewhere. I run my hands over the suit and realize there's something hard in the pocket. I pull it out and find a coin, humming and hot to the touch. I stare at the coin's face – a metal portrait of Snow. Even in such a rudimentary sketch he looks like he's keeping a secret. When I run my thumb over the face the buzzing stops and the heat from the metal evaporates.

"Arin, Peeta and I have to go for a little bit," I say. Arin looks perplexed, but sleepy. "We'll only be gone a little while. Do you think you could stay here and guard my room for me? I need someone brave. Could you do that?"

Arin sits up, his back straight. "I could guard your room for you. I could keep it safe," he says insistently.

"Good," I respond, looking at Peeta. He chuckles a little and gets out of bed. He tussles Arin's hair a little before the two of us slip out of my room and leave the suite.

"What is that?" Peeta asks and I drop the coin in his palm. Cold and still, it looks like a normal five-piece. We walk to the end of the hall to the north stairwell. I'm still not sure what we're doing here, how we aren't going to get caught. It seems a little conspicuous to me to have Victors roaming the lit halls at night. Surely we'll be caught on camera, our footsteps picked up by listening devices.

I open the stairwell door and find Finnick, Haymitch, the victor from District 7, and a man with grayish skin I recognize from this morning as one of the tributes from District 3.

"Get in," Finnick says with a boyish grin, grabbing my wrist and closing the door.

"What is this?" I ask, holding the coin in my hand.

"Clever isn't it?" the man from District 3 boasts.

"I like the _fuck you to Snow_ part," Johanna Mason smirks, flipping the coin across her fingers, Snow's face flashing and hiding with each rotation.

"It interferes with the monitoring systems. Overrides the cameras with video of a pre-programmed undetectable loop from earlier in the evening. Runs white noise over the microphones. It will even disable motion sensors within a one-hundred foot radius, give or take a few inches," the man adds, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Beetee Latier, right?" Peeta asks and the man nods. Peeta offers his hand and Beetee shakes it awkwardly. He doesn't seem to know how to respond to even the most normal of pleasantries and shoves his hands into his pockets as soon as he can.

"Keep it with you at all times. When you feel the coin heat up suddenly, that means we meet here at this time," Beetee instructs.

"Neat," Peeta says, turning the coin over in his palm. I assume Finnick planted one on Peeta during their skirmish earlier.

That seems to be about all Beetee is currently willing to offer as he turns his attention to Haymitch. I follow his gaze and look at the old man expectantly. I'm not sure what we are doing here. When we talked on the train, it was pretty clear Peeta was to be left out of it, yet here he is, standing in the stairwell, sharing winks with Finnick at the parade. My eyes focus on Haymitch.

"We need to do something," Haymitch says assertively. "Snow reaped Victors because he wanted to eliminate our presence in the Districts. Many resistance leaders are found among the Victor ranks."

"Duh," Johanna says, shifting her feet impatiently.

"He reaped the children to ruin you. To tear down any chance of unity between the Districts. It's one thing to watch children kill one another out of a desperation to live, it's another to watch an adult kill a helpless kid," Haymitch reiterates what he's already said to Peeta and me in private. I think of little Arin, asleep in my bed back in our suite. I would never, _could_ never, kill him. And if someone does, if someone tries, I would hate them with every fiber of my being. "You all need to band together and keep those kids away from the Careers," Haymitch orders.

"Finnick is a Career," I point out. He feigns looking offended but I'm not wrong. Districts 1, 2 and 4 have some kind of alliance the rest of us can't penetrate.

"I'm not a baby sitter," Johanna says defiantly.

"Define child," Beetee asks precisely, and we all turn our heads to him. His eyebrows perch. "Do you mean all of the new tributes? Do you mean any individual still within reaping age? That could include these two," he says, gesturing to Peeta and me. Johanna cackles out a laugh.

"I don't need anyone sacrificing themselves for me," Peeta says to the group, but he finishes with a pointed look at me.

"Wait, are we talking _sacrificing_ ourselves? Or just keeping them alive long enough to die of some Capitol-trap instead of by a Victor?" Johanna spits out.

"Shut up!" Haymitch bellows and we all fall silent. "I'm asking you to keep them safe as best you can. I'm asking you to recruit other Districts to do the same. I'm asking you to have the self-control not to kill them," he says, directing that last sentence at Johanna.

"So who wins?" Johanna asks. "Which one of us gets to stay alive?"

We're all silent. It's actually Beetee who finally speaks.

"The Arena will decide. It always does."

When we get back to my room, Arin is pacing the space. He has a hairbrush clutched defensively in his fist. When he sees us, a smile breaks out on his face and his grip on the brush loosens. I told him on the train to find a weapon. If he's in the Arena and he has to face someone, his size is not to his advantage. Find a rock, find a stick, anything to do damage or provide some distance. When I see his knuckles white around the hairbrush, I can't help but feel a mix of pride and potent sadness. Arin goes back to sleep in his room, a new sense of faith in himself now that we showed some confidence in him.

If only I had confidence in myself. Peeta sits on the edge of my bed and watches me as I pace the room.

"Kat–"

"I don't think I can do this again," I whisper. I'm not sure if it's to Peeta or to myself, but I'm reliving a nightmare. I think of Rue – her bright smile, her small hands, her clever wit. I held her. I held her as she slept in my sleeping bag. I held her tiny body when her life slipped out of it. And now Arin… "I can't," I choke. I feel like my throat is filling with sludge and I can't breathe. It's like I'm drowning. I gasp for air but I feel as though I'm in a vacuum. Peeta is up from the bed and his arms are wrapped around me.

"I know," he says, but I can't breathe. My chest throbs and I think my heart might stop beating for lack of air. Peeta's hands cup my face. I can feel my skin burn red with exertion. "Look at me. Look at me," he orders. I try but my eyes are stinging with tears and when I blink they stream down my cheeks. "Purse your lips like this. Like your blowing out a candle." I try but I'm starting to get dizzy. "In through your nose. With me, Katniss. In through your nose." Peeta draws breath slowly and I try to copy. "Now out," he says softly, blowing the air through his lips. I try but it comes out a shaky mess. "Again," he says, watching me carefully. In. Out through my mouth.

When I'm managing on my own, Peeta presses a kiss to my forehead and it's so tender that I feel my hate for the world harden in my chest. What a cruel place we live in, that someone like Peeta is forced into an Arena to kill. Someone who let his mother beat him senseless rather than raise a hand to her, who loved her despite her viciousness. Who loved me despite my flaws. Who loved Prim even if she represented a rift so large it broke his family. Who saw through Haymitch when all I could see was a drunken wreck. Someone whose every instinct is to nurture and love being forced into a massacre.

Peeta's arms wrap around me and he squeezes me tight. When I pull back there's a tear running down his cheek. His hand quickly wipes it away as he turns his body from me. I've never seen him cry. Not through any of it. His resolve breaks for just a moment, but he takes in a shallow breath and recovers before I'm even sure it really happened.

"Come on, let's get some sleep," he says. We crawl back into bed and I stare at the ceiling in the dark.

"Effie's gonna be mad at you," I whisper with a small smile.

"I don't care," Peeta replies back, finding my hand under the blankets and weaving his fingers in with mine.

In the morning I force Peeta back to his room. I can't deal with the disapproving stare that will linger all day. I'm pleasantly surprised when Arin keeps his mouth shut – not only about our secret meeting in the middle of the night, but about Peeta's whereabouts in our suite.

"You have ten minutes to change and then we will head down to training," Effie harps. Haymitch groans a little and nurses his coffee as if it were an elixir of life. Madge and I march diligently upstairs. I find my training clothes hanging in the closet, the number 12 on my arm. Changing and brushing my teeth takes all of two minutes, but if I can avoid Effie's high-pitched orders for 8 more minutes, I'll take it. I lay on the bed and bury my head under the pillow, blocking out the light. A tight rapping rings on my door a few minutes later.

"Truly, Katniss, what could you possibly be doing to make us late?" Effie flutters about. I follow her back downstairs and meet our team at the elevator door. All four of us are in matching outfits. When the elevator door opens, we step inside, but Haymitch catches Effie's elbow before she joins us.

"Let them go," he says.

"But I am their escort! It's my _job_ , Haymitch!" Effie nearly screeches like an owl.

"They are already the youngest tributes. Don't make them look like they need a babysitter. We need to show that Katniss and Peeta can fend for themselves and their tributes," Haymitch explains. Effie's mouth hangs open as if to express her next line of protest, but instead she snaps it shut and steps back from the door. The elevator closes and the four of us are alone.

I expect the training center to be full to the point of capacity, but when the doors open I'm surprised to find very few victors have decided to bother at all. The young tributes are all here, most looking wide-eyed and lost. Across the room I see Johanna with two children following her like baby ducks. When she stops abruptly to grab a staff, the closest slams into her back and Johanna whirls around and starts screaming at the shocked tribute. Finnick is standing in the far corner with his two tributes, quizzing them on edible roots. The two tributes from 3 are also present as well. The tributes from 1 and 2 are sparring. I see a woman I recognize from the Reaping video. Her children clutched to her legs as her name was called and she had to extricate herself from their sobbing, clinging bodies. I think she was from 8. _Is_ from 8, I correct my own thinking, but I know we are all dead. I can't help but place us all in some kind of preemptive past tense.

"What should we do?" Madge asks, scanning the room. In this moment I have a choice. Learn something new that might improve Peeta's survival, or teach Arin and Madge the basics. My mouth feels dry.

"Come on," Peeta says before I have a chance to speak. "Katniss is really good at making fires. Let's see if she can show us a thing or two." Peeta takes off for the fire-making station and I follow dutifully. Peeta plays dumb, although we worked on survival skills all summer. "Then I strike the flint like this?" Peeta purposefully does it wrong so Arin and Madge watch more closely as I correct him. "I propose a race. You two versus me and Katniss. Whoever gets their fire going first wins."

"But–" Arin starts to protest.

"But–" Peeta interjects, a grin on his face. "You get the flint," he finishes, dropping it in Arin's palm. The four of us get to work hurriedly building our tinder nests out of leaves and small sticks and bark. I catch Peeta watching me and accuse him of cheating.

"Why are you all laughing?" I hear a voice spit out as smoke begins to rise from my kindling, then a flame. I look up and find the boy from District 1. He's tall with wide shoulders. He's a year older than me, even though this is his first trip into the Arena.

I'm about to stand for a confrontation when I hear Peeta say, "You can join us, but I've got to warn you, Katniss is pretty fast and you probably aren't going to win."

"Win what?" the tribute probes with a mix of viciousness and curiosity.

"The Quell," Madge answers coldly, speaking over Peeta's playful response. While Peeta was moments away from diffusing the situation, Madge has just sent a warning shot to the Careers.

"What did you say to me, girl?" the tribute hisses.

"Too slow to follow?" Madge incites. His face turns red. He lunges forward and Madge springs to her feet and takes off. The boy scrambles over her ruined fire and shoot after her. The trainer blows their whistle but the boy does not let up his pursuit. Madge sprints across the gym, hurdling obstacles effortlessly as the Career plows through them in her wake as though they were made from paper. Madge remains just past his fingertips. The instructors are yelling now but Madge isn't going to stop running first. They reach an open space and both pick up pace. I turn toward the weapons station, ready to intervene, when Peeta grabs my elbow.

"Look," he whispers.

When I turn back around Madge is running toward the freestanding handrails that run along the entrance of the training area. She ducks and slides gracefully underneath when the ogre of a boy crashes into the railing at full speed. The bar catches his just below his stomach and he folds around it like a shirt being hung to dry on a clothesline. A noise escapes his mouth as the air is pushed from his lungs and he crumples and falls to the floor. Madge scurries to her feet and runs back to us. The instructor marches toward her with a face flushed with anger.

"She didn't touch him," Peeta insists, and we all know it's true. The instructor stands there, mouth agape, but there is no recourse to be had. Madge didn't touch that boy. He injured himself.

A whistle blows.

"That ends morning sessions. Please report back to your appropriate suite," the instructor bellows.

I look over at the boy who has finally slid himself onto his back and is being looked at by a medic in a white shirt.

One down.

Either that, or a target on Madge's back.

 **A/N - I had a little Hermione Granger/Dumbledore's Army influence here... ;)**


	46. Chapter 46 - A Response

The evening training session is even more sterile than the first. More victors show up, although they spend little time with their tributes. The Careers train in the weapons area and keep a careful eye on our district as we move about the room. Peeta attempts to make friends, but after watching him con the last set of Careers in our Games, no one from Districts 1 or 2 is willing to talk to him.

I'm sitting at dinner when I feel the coin in my pocket heat up and nearly scald my leg. I shift it quickly, but as my eyes flit around the room no one else is reacting. Johanna stabs her food like it's still alive. I look to Peeta and he chews while laughing quietly at some foolish thing Finnick is doing. Across the room I lock eyes with Beetee and he nods.

Just the two of us.

Peeta is asleep in my bed when the clock face flashes to 1 AM. I slip out from under the covers and head to the bathroom. I turn on the light and shower. Maybe if he wakes up he'll assume I'm still here and drift back off.

I'm too good at lying to him, I realize.

I slip out of my room and down the stairs to the main floor of our suite. I'm silent in my movements, although I know Beetee's coin interferer is messing with the cameras and microphones. Still… It feels appropriate to be light on my feet. I don't know what lurks outside the door. The hallway is empty and the lights blare a fluorescent glow. When I reach the north stairwell I hesitate for a moment, my fingers touching the handle. Finally I gulp and turn it.

"Katniss!" the fat pale man I recognize from our meeting in District 4 blares out with hardly any care for secrecy at all. Beetee stands behind him, fidgety and awkward, a scroll of paper clenched in his fist.

"What's this?" I ask.

And that's when I learn the plan. The real plan. A way to save Peeta and Arin and Madge.

But not me.

"It will probably kill you, Katniss," Beetee says matter-of-factly. I just nod, chewing the inside of my cheek as I study at the map spread out on the floor. I replay the plan as he's explained it over and over in my mind.

"But the hovercraft will come in through the ceiling of the Arena, right? It will pick up the victors before the Capitol can reach them?" I repeat.

"Yes, that's the idea," the Head Gamemaker answers for Beetee. Plutarch wants me to die publically. Defiantly. Make myself a martyr. He wants to build a revolution on my grave.

"Good," I say, staring at the paper as the edges begin to disintegrate into powder. I watch until the whole thing is nothing but dust on the floor. I stand, finally moving my eyes from the map to Beetee. "Does Haymitch know this is how we are doing it? Does he know I might not make it out?"

"No," Beetee says back, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

"Don't tell him it's me. He'd never allow it. Tell him you are doing it."

"I'm not a very good liar," Beetee confesses.

"Try," I say, "Or he'll never let me do it and the Arena will stay up." I pause before I add, "With you in it."

When I walk back to my room, I feel a conflict of emotions I can't quite grapple with. I feel light - like a burden is being lifted from my chest. I can save Peeta. I can save Arin and Madge too. But my throat feels like I've swallowed molten steel, and my stomach feels like it has solidified there, cold and fraught with gravity. I've just agreed to die.

When I see Peeta sleeping, I pause and watch him, his chest rising and falling in a quiet rhythm.

I'd do it again.

I'd do it a thousand times over.

There is something so inherently good, so kind and _good_ about him that I will never, ever be.

I could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve that boy. I'd die a thousand deaths trying.

Peeta rolls over and blinks his eyes.

"Your hair's not wet," he says sleepily.

"What?" I ask.

"I thought you were in the shower," he responds. I stare at him blankly. He sits up and a lie prepares itself in my mouth. "Katniss," he says softly, wrapping his arms around me and scratching my back. "You don't have to hide from me," Peeta whispers. He thinks I turned on the shower to drown out the sounds of my crying. It's better than the lie I came up with, so I just let it sit between us like a truth I can't bear to confess.

"I know," I answer back.

The next morning we breakfast trying to figure out what Madge and Arin will do for their talent session, but come up emptyhanded. Maybe we'll figure something out at the skills stations today. Downstairs, though, we are split up. Madge and I, along with the other appropriately aged female tributes, are lined up outside the sterile medical room that abuts the Training Center. It's where you'd go if you sprained an ankle or cut yourself on a weapon or fish hook, but today it serves a special purpose. Madge looks at me with sinking dread in her stomach.

"What is this?" she murmurs, trying to keep her voice low.

"It's so you don't have your period in the Arena," Johanna snaps from her spot ahead of us in line. "Wouldn't want to turn the stomachs of any fancy Capitolites with the sight of blood."

I expect Madge to be overcome with horror, but instead a laugh bursts from her lips. She covers her mouth and tries to hide it, but the cackles escape between her fingers like water.

Johanna's fake smirk drops and she takes Madge in before looking at me. "I like her," Johanna says with what I think is an impressed look.

When Madge comes out afterward, a shiny white piece of gauze covering the needle prick mark, she whispers "Is it… permanent?" In some awful way it makes me feel better. It means Madge is thinking about life after the Games.

"No," I answer. Portia told me it lasts five years. Long enough for a victor to fulfill their _duties_. I question if they will even give me another one as I haven't had my period since the last Games, but behind a sterile white curtain the nurse shoves a needle in my arm. I wonder if my womb will shrivel up and die with a double dose of poison. I wonder if that would be that bad. Not that it matters.

We rejoin the male tributes in training. Today everyone is in the Center. I catch the eyes of the Career who carved her teeth into pointed fangs watching me, which I'm fine with, but when her eyes drift to Arin I feel an ache in my chest. I watch as he slips and slices his knee open on the side of the platform. Peeta walks over and pulls Arin to his feet before taking him to the medical room.

"So is that your plan, Twelve?" the pretty woman from District 1 says. I'm distracted and I turn back just as she and her brother saddle up on either side of me. I lift my chin. "You survived your Games hiding in trees and caves and in the dirt like some kind of animal. And we heard that pretty girl in your district can run. So is that your plan? You just gonna run and hide, huh Twelve?"

"You got me," I say with very little inflection in my tone. I can tell it bothers her that I'm not reacting, but there's something else there too. There's an animosity below the surface, boiling with hatred. This woman hates me.

"I saw her body when she came back," the blonde woman hisses coldly under her breath.

"Who?" I ask innocently, but I already know and the guilt feels like bile in my stomach. I don't let it reach my face.

"Glimmer. I trained that girl since she could toddle. You had no right–" She's practically screaming now, hunching down so she can meet my eyes. I don't have to try to imagine what Glimmer looked like, swollen and full of venom. Her distorted face haunts my nightmares. I can only imagine what it would be like for someone who loved her to see her like that.

"Come on, Cashmere," the brother insists, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her back.

"You have no right to stand here. No right! I'll make sure you pay for it," she threatens loudly for the whole group to hear as she's escorted across the room. I want to turn around, to block her out, but my Arena training has already kicked in.

Never turn your back on an enemy.

"Hey," a voice from behind me states and I nearly jump a foot. Finnick walks up beside me and leans his body so his shoulder bumps mine. I look up at him and the playboy has vanished. The look on his face is genuine. I feel like it might be the first time I've actually seen him. Maybe it's the first time he sees me, too, because he's not falling for the tough act I'm putting on. It's like he can feel the guilt in my gut.

"We all did stuff in the Arena we wish we didn't have to. It doesn't make you a bad person," he says quietly.

"No, it just makes me a killer," I answer icily, turning away from him.

"Katniss," Finnick's voice reaches out, and something about the vulnerability in it makes me look back at him. "You killed Indra too," he states. "The girl from Four last year. And I _don't_ blame you for that. I know what it's like to have blood on your hands, but that doesn't have to define you. You were in an impossible situation and you did what you had to do. They were trying to kill you and you did what you had to. You _lived_ , Katniss."

"I can't blame Cashmere for hating me," I respond.

"I can't either. But I think you need to stop hating yourself," Finnick adds. He looks at me knowingly, and then turns and walks away. He is nothing like I thought he was.

"What did Finnick want?" Peeta asks as he approaches with Arin, whose knee is wrapped up in a bandage. Peeta catches me staring and adds, "Oh, he's fine. I just wrapped it up and he's practically good as new, right Arin?"

Arin grins and I fake a smile back, but Peeta knows something is wrong.

"Hey bud, why don't you go check out the edible plants section with Madge?" Peeta suggests, pointing across the room.

Arin nods and hobbles off to the large screens on the far wall.

Peeta turns back to me, voice low. "You okay? What's up? Do I need to confront Finnick?" He adds that last part with a joking grin, but he doesn't coax a smile out of me.

"They think we are weak," I state. I watching Arin limp. I watch the pointed-teeth woman watching him. I watch Cashmere watching Madge. We are targets.

"Is that bad? Maybe it's good to be underestimated. Keep them focused on who they see as real competition for a while," Peeta calculates. I can't say I disagree, but something about it doesn't sit right.

"I think these Games are going to be different. I think the kids change things," I respond.

"There's always kids," Peeta says.

"I know, but…" I can't put my finger on it. "Something isn't right."

I don't know what comes over me, but I feel almost possessed as I glide across the room to the archery arena. I run my fingers over the cold, aluminum bow and I feel the eyes in the training room all shift to me in one silent movement. I lift the bow and twirl it into my hand as if it were an extension of my own body. I load the quiver on my back and it is so silent in the Training Center I can hear the metal arrows chinking against one another as I cross into the glass room. I'm like a fish in a bowl, and in this moment, I have something to prove.

 _Stay away from our kids._

The trainer tosses a bag of seed in the air, which I easily puncture with my arrow. He tosses a few more and quickly realizes this is not worth my time. He crosses to the glass wall, punches some buttons on a keypad, and nods at me. The lighting in the room shifts and my skin prickles. Everything about me is on alert and for a moment I'm in the woods hunting. I can feel every breeze on my skin, every crack of the leaves. I sense a shift of light and I spin around. Behind me a hologram outline of a man charges, spear in hand. The spear is lunged forward and I dive to the side, shooting an arrow that passes through the image's throat. It breaks into a thousand pieces, like tiny paper cranes that evaporate as they hit the floor. I hear the sound of feet and look left. Another hologram. I slide on my knees as the sword swipes over my head. I take an arrow from my quiver and slam it into the hologram's back as I slide by and it too explodes and evaporates. Arrow still in hand I load my bow to shoot the attacker running on a utility vent above my head. Shear chaos breaks out as I send arrow after arrow through the targets. The simulation ends when I kill two attackers with one carefully placed shot. The machinery whirs to a stop and silence fills the arena. When I look to the glass wall, the entirety of tribute pool is standing there, mouth ajar. I find the pointy-toothed woman and stare her down as I drop the bow and arrow deliberately to the floor. I walk over, grab Arin by the shoulders, and ignore her. I don't need to see her to know she got the message.

 _Stay away from Arin. Stay away from Madge. Stay away from our kids._

I head to the elevator and Madge and Peeta fall in line behind me. We enter as a united front. I hit the button and the door closes.

"Holy shit, Katniss!" Peeta exclaims, a grin wide across his lips. His words practically bubble. "That was… That was amazing. I mean, I knew you could shoot, but that was…. That was amazing!"

When we arrive in our suite early Effie is confused, but minutes later Haymitch comes through the door, eyes wide and bright.

"At least half of the districts want to make an alliance with you. What did you do?" he says, unable to mask his excitement.

"They saw her shoot. I mean, I feel I saw her shoot for real, for the first time," Peeta gleams.

"You're that good?" Haymitch asks. "Good enough that even District 2 is willing to break from District 1 to be with you?"

"Well, I don't want them," I respond. The idea of partnering with the pointy-toothed woman and the hulking man who could break my neck with one hand makes me sick.

"Well who do you want?" Haymitch asks.

I know I should feel safe with the other rebels, but I don't. I have no idea who these people will become when they enter an Arena. I have no doubt Johanna would kill me in a heartbeat to save her own skin. Maybe just for fun. Finnick is different, but… I look at Peeta.

"I don't trust anyone but you," I tell him. Peeta's face is unreadable to everyone but me.

"You're back early. Go clean up for dinner," Effie orders and Madge and Arin walk diligently to their rooms. Peeta and I wait until their doors are closed before we turn back to Haymitch to speak.

"I don't want anyone in there. I don't trust anyone in there," I repeat. I don't need allies. I have my mission. I know what to do. "Our district. The four of us, that's it."

Haymitch nods, but I can tell it's not the last time we'll have this conversation. Effie clears her throat with a high-pitched cough.

"Mr. Abernathy, we are due at the benefactor event in just a few minutes. If you want to get sponsors, we'd best be on our way!" she harps, her last words ringing in a sing-songy nag.

Haymitch grunts and Effie lectures him how guttural sounds are inappropriate for proper and polite discourse as they head out of the suite. The door closes and we suddenly feel very empty.

"I don't want anyone else," I repeat. Peeta nods as he wraps his arms around my waist.

"You were incredible today," he whispers into my neck. "I've never seen anything like that in my entire life." I can feel him grinning, _beaming_ through his skin. It's like happiness is seeping from his pores and I realize what it is.

He thinks I can win.

"Peeta," I start, but he presses his mouth to mine and kisses me deeply. Air catches in my throat and I try to protest. I'm not coming out of this Arena alive. He should prepare himself now.

"Don't take this away from me," he pleads as he breaks away. "Don't say it isn't true. This is the first time I've felt okay in a long time." It's the first time that he really, truly felt like I might live, like I might make it, and he doesn't want me ruining it by promising to die for him in there. His lips pepper mine and he moves his mouth along my jaw until he reaches my neck. His tongue runs along my skin and I feel chills run up my body before he sucks with his lips and my legs go weak underneath me. Peeta walks forward until my back reaches the wall. His hands glide into my hair and I decide to let myself forget, just for a moment. Peeta's mouth breaks away from my skin, panting. He grabs my hand and pulls me toward his bedroom door. It latches shut behind us and we collide.

I feel Peeta's hands on the backs of my thighs and he hoists me up as I wrap my legs around his waist. He walks forward and we drop back together on his bed. I haven't been in this room before and at the moment I don't much care. He's happy in an insatiable way, his hands running up my legs and over my hips, tugging at my shirt and begging for more. He can barely stop smiling long enough to kiss me and he's so beautiful it makes every bit of my body ache for him.

My fingers fumble as I push the button of his pants through its hole and pull the zipper down. Peeta's breath quickens and I feel his heart hammering against his chest as I slip my hand inside his pants and wrap my hand around him. He feels hot against my palm and his arms shake above me. He looks at face for a moment before he closes his eyes and for a moment I lose him in whatever he's seeing there behind his lids.

"What are you doing?" I ask softly.

"Watching you," he whispers, and I'm about to protest because his eyes are closed, and then I realize he's not watching me now, he's watching me earlier. He's watching me shoot and dive and run. When his eyes open again there are tears swelling but he blinks them away.

The guilt eats my insides. The happy warmth of a moment ago is overcome by a clammy chill, like a dark cloud rolling over my body.

Peeta lives. There is a vast, gaping secret between us. And he's going to hate me for it.

"I should go. It's the middle of the day," I whisper, sliding my hand away from him. "See you at dinner," I add informally as my feet move across his room.

"Katniss," Peeta says, but the door eats whatever else he had to say.


	47. Chapter 47 - Less Alone

The next day we sit at lunch between the morning and afternoon training sessions. Upon orders from Haymitch, Peeta is trying to be friendly with the others, even if I refuse to make allies. Madge and I sit at a lunch table alone silently eating from our trays of food, and for a moment I feel transported in space and time. We might as well be back at home, sitting in the cafeteria at school, scaring everyone away from us.

The screeching of table legs snaps me out of it and I realize Finnick and Peeta are pushing the lunchroom tables together so we can all eat as one. Peeta gives me a modest smile and shrugs. He can't help but make friends. District 1 sits as far from us at the table as they can, each shooting unambiguous glares our way as we try to eat.

"So what are you doing for your talent?" Finnick asks Madge, chewing with his mouth open.

"I don't kn–" Madge starts, but I jump in.

"She doesn't have to tell you. It's supposed to be a secret," I answer for her. The skills display is tonight and we still haven't decided what to do for Madge.

"Ooooo… A secret!" Finnick responds, waggling his eyebrows. An elderly woman sitting next to him pats his hand and he rolls his eyes playfully at her. "Well, if you ask me, she should do it all," Finnick answers, returning his attention to Mags.

I'm about to say _well we didn't ask you_ but he's piqued my curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"That girl's smart. Really smart. I've never seen someone spend cover so many stations before and pass them all. She was at knots for only five minutes before she was tying knots I only just learned last year. Edible plants, too. Even on weaponry she'd watch the demo and her form would be perfect. I mean, she's not strong enough to wield a sword but her hand positions were spot on. I don't get it, she must be some kind of genius or something," he says, smiling at her. Madge shifts uncomfortably, no good with praise.

"Really?" I ask. I've been so busy trying to keep Careers off her back I've hardly noticed how she and Arin are actually doing at their stations.

"I have a photographic memory," she says quietly. "I don't need to see the demos more than once, they play over and over in my mind on repeat," she explains with some reservation. "I'm not a genius, I just remember things."

Finnick's right. No one has ever swept the talent section. No one's even tried, there's so little time.

"You should do it then," I reply as encouragingly as I can muster. Madge looks white. Peeta grabs her hand and she turns to look at him. His words aren't for Finnick or me. His voice is low, sincere.

"The other new tributes will hardly know what to do in there and the Victors will each show off a _specific_ skill that the judges probably already know about from their first Games. If go in there and do a tour of every station as fast as you can, you'll be memorable. You'll be different. That's all that matters. Even if you don't make it all the way through, and even if you aren't perfect… Even just attempting it shows guts, Madge. And you've got guts," he says.

The judges wouldn't even know what to do with that.

"No one's ever done every station. You'd be prolific," Finnick adds with a grin. I look at him and the confusion on my face must be transparent.

 _Why is he helping us?_

"Because I like you, girl on fire," Finnick answers without being asked, popping another piece of chicken in his mouth before winking and turning back to the others' conversation.

He's right though. Madge would be unforgettable. If she's going to stay alive long enough for me to get her out, unforgettable doesn't hurt.

Finnick's a genius.

We spend the afternoon making sure Madge gets to every station she hasn't visited yet at least once. Finnick was not exaggerating. Madge watches the informational material once and she's already moving.

We head upstairs and prepare for the demonstrations. Haymitch offers some encouraging words. Effie straightens my shoulders. "Don't slouch," she harps, her hands on my lower back. We each dress in matching uniforms and ride the elevator silently. The waiting room is massive, rows upon rows of folding chairs. The congenial attitude from lunch has all but evaporated. At first it's so quiet you could hear a pin drop, but after Districts 1 and 2 have gone we start talking amongst ourselves. I stay in my seat, lost in my mind, when the elderly woman from District 4 comes over and sits beside me. Her knotted, arthritic fingers fidget with a tiny fish hook she must have taken with her from training. She smiles at me kindly and drops the hook in my hand. It's almost pretty with a copper-colored feather protruding from the top.

"Thank you," I say softly, and she smiles kindly at me. "I saw what you did," I say, remembering the reaping in District 4. The old woman volunteered after the name of another victor was called. If the girl was hysterical at being selected to go into the Arena, she was even worse when she saw the old woman take her place. There was a love there, a bond. They loved each other.

She smiles gently and points at me. She thinks we're alike because I volunteered for Prim. "She was my sister," I say lamely, excusing my behavior, but the way the old woman looks at me… It's like I gave her courage. Like because she saw me save my sister, she knew she could save the red-headed girl. "I didn't do all that," I whisper, but the woman just smiles knowingly. She wraps my hand in hers and her palms are so soft and warm for a moment I think this must be what it's like to have a grandparent. The guard barks her name and she smiles again before she trots off for her turn in front of the Gamemakers.

"Is she going to make fish hooks?" I ask, approaching Finnick while I run the orange feather over with my fingertips.

"Mags?" he asks. "No. She told me she was going to take a nap."

I can't help but laugh at the gall of it. Finnick smiles at me, but in what feels like no time he's shuffled inside. The crowd dwindles until finally it's just me and Peeta. I stare at all the empty chairs, like they are occupied by ghosts of people who are already dead. Peeta stares at the floor. He weave my hand in mine and he looks up for a moment.

"How are we going to kill all these people?" he asks quietly. I can't tell him about the plan. I can't tell him I'm hoping Finnick stays alive long enough to get out of the Arena. The old woman. Johanna even. The one person I know for sure is going to die in there is me.

"I don't know," I answer honestly. I will kill. To keep Peeta and Arin and Madge alive, I'll kill. But it makes me feel sick, like I don't know who I am anymore. When did the grief slip away? When did it become an unspoken truth that the line had disappeared for me.

When Peeta's name is called my arm aches at the thought of him stepping away from me. His hand loosens and he kisses the top of my head before entering the room for his private session. I wait, my mind flitting through what I should do. I'll shoot, obviously, although I hate doing anything obvious now. The Gamemakers will be expecting that of me. I don't want to be predictable.

It doesn't really matter. I've got a target on my back. They certainly have orders from Snow to take me out. I just need to complete my mission first.

I start to get worried as Peeta is gone an unusually long time. Scenarios start playing out in my mind and I feel nearly sick when the guard comes and barks my name. I follow him into the large room. Just like last year, the Gamemakers are all in a balcony overlooking the space, eating food and laughing and barely offering me any mind. The sharp odor of cleaner invades my nostrils and I look down. There's a wet spot on the floor, over which a rug has been hastily placed. I grab the rug and drag it out of the way. Even though it's been blurred from bleach, the imprint is undeniable. It's Rue, painted on the floor, surrounded by flowers. It's beautiful and macabre all at the same time.

 _Peeta._ He made them own it. If only for one moment, he made the Gamemakers own her death.

This is not good. I want him alive. I don't want the Gamemaker's attention on him at all. Peeta, who unlike every other tribute, didn't walk into this room thinking of himself. He came in here and he thought of Rue. He thought of a little girl we lost too soon and loved not nearly long enough.

But I don't want Peeta singling himself out. That's my job – to draw fire away from Peeta. I stare at the blurry portrait of Rue on the floor. I look up and try to catch Plutarch's eye but he ignores me. The other Gamemakers act as though I hadn't even entered the room.

 _Do you know how much I hate you all?_

Suddenly I know what to do. Something that will blow any memory of Peeta's defiance out of the water. I run over and grab a mannequin from the training area and struggle to unhook it from its stand. When the dummy finally falls loose I drag it noisily across the floor. Peeta's hasn't left me much to work with at the camouflage station, but I dip my fingers in the paint and get to work. I trace his beard as best I remember it, but just to be sure I use the red paint to smear his name across the dummy's chest. It looks like dripping blood as though I'd carved it out in flesh. Good. I find a rope and throw one side up over the rafters. I quickly tie the knot Finnick showed Madge earlier. My fingers fumble but finally I make it work. Just as the time nears a close, I slip the head of the white mannequin through the noose and hoist it into the air.

The screams and gasps from the observation deck are all the satisfaction I need. The words across its chest are a warning shot. Their eyes drop to me in horror. I bow with as much false deference as I can muster, and in the last moment I throw the red paint bottle over my shoulder. I hear it crash on the floor and hope it sent blood red paint everywhere.

Try looking at Peeta now.

When I leave the room I find Peeta, Cinna, and Portia lingering outside the exit.

"How did it go?" Portia asks encouragingly, but she's almost delicate in her tone. I look at Peeta, who gives me a quiet smile, but I can tell he's upset with himself.

"I'm sure you did great," Cinna says with a wink, wrapping his arm around my shoulder.

When we arrive upstairs and the elevator doors open, Effie greets us with her usual fanfare. I catch Haymitch over her shoulder and something in my stomach drops. His face looks… Dead. Dead is the best word I can use to describe it. He shakes his head quickly, but I don't know what he's talking about until I look over Effie's shoulder. I see why. Standing in the dining room, ready to serve dinner, are two Avoxes.

"This year they sent a matching set!" Effie kids as she follows my gaze, but I feel like I might fall through the floor. The red-headed girl from last year stands solemnly, head down. The man next to her, with a matching fiery mop of hair, is Darius.

I blink and I see him on the ground next to Gale. The Peacekeepers dragged him away before I could even process what he'd done. Bloodied and mangled, I wouldn't have recognized him had it not been for the flits of auburn hair pressed to his skin. Now here he is, muted and unable to look me in the eye. I feel sick, I feel like I might actually puke on the floor.

In that moment, I realize Portia isn't breathing. I turn to her, but her face is white like a sheet of paper. I follow her stare and realize she is staring at the red-headed girl, who is doing everything in her power to keep her eyes on the tile at her feet. Portia, who has always seemed as though she were made of steel, with sharp bangs and pointed nails and an attitude to go with it, is barely able to hold her weight. I see Cinna take her elbow and whisper something in her ear before he leads her to sit at the dinner table.

My eyes shift back to Darius, how his jaw hangs slack. I realize I'll never hear him tease me again. He'll never speak a word, not to me, not to a friend, not to a parent or sibling or lover or anyone. I take off up the stairs, sprinting two at a time until I reach my room and slam the door behind me.

It's only seconds before I hear a knock.

"Not right now, Peeta," I yell, but the door opens anyway and Haymitch steps inside. When I look at him my eyes well with tears and I furiously bat them away. I thought I had control over myself, over some of this, over _something_. Snow has made it very clear I was wrong. I can't control anything at all.

Haymitch sits on the edge of my bed while I pace the room. He doesn't say anything. There's nothing to say. We know why Darius is here. It's my fault. All of this is my fault. Finally, Haymitch stands up and steps in my path. I practically slam into him. He wraps his arms around me and I struggle, punching my fists into his chest, fighting. It makes sense our first hug should be a mess. But finally I stop and I just drop my head to his chest in defeat. He doesn't do anything, he doesn't expect anything, he doesn't move. I try to breathe.

"You done?" he asks after a while.

"Yeah," I mumble.

"We have to go down there," he says, liquor heavy on his breath. He's not okay either.

"Okay," I answer.

"I'll tell them you just wanted to clean up," Haymitch says, crossing to the door. He looks at me and then he closes it between us, but somehow I feel less alone.


	48. Chapter 48 - The Roof

I only have a few moments before I have to go back downstairs and I spend most of them trying not to hyperventilate. I can't go back down there. I can't sit and eat and pretend like my friend hasn't been tortured and enslaved. I try to scrub the black and red paint from my fingers but nothing will cleanse this feeling from my body. In the end my skin is still stained pink when I reach the table. Peeta doesn't look much better, the black from Rue's curly hair still under his fingernails. Haymitch is visibly drunk. Effie tries to push us for details on the sessions.

"Did you do the sweep?" I ask Madge, my voice almost mechanical.

"I did," she says softly, sensing this is not really the time for celebration.

"Everything?" Peeta asks.

"Everything," she answers.

"That's marvelous!" claps Effie, clearly delighted. "Truly, well done!"

I try to remember in my head how many stations there were, but all I can see when I think of that room is the painting of Rue, of the blinding fury that followed, gave way to reprisal, and reappeared the minute the elevator doors opened. The last of the food is served and Darius and the girl leave the suite. Even without him here my pulse keeps hammering.

"And what did you do Peeta?" Effie asks, fluttering her eyelashes.

"I… I painted a picture," he answers. It's honest, if evasive.

"Oh, of Katniss?" Effie asks with a broad smile a wistful tone to her voice.

"Why would he do that?" I snap. I immediately feel guilty. None of this is Effie's fault. "Sorry," I mumble a pathetic excuse of an apology.

"No. I painted Rue. How she looked when Katniss covered her with flowers," Peeta says.

It is absolutely silent. I can hear Peeta's heart beating.

"Why would you do that?" Portia finally says, as if he'd announced he'd intentionally thrown Arin off the roof.

"I wanted them to own it. If just for one second, I wanted them to own killing that little girl," Peeta says to an audience who only sees his actions as a target on his back, and not a quiet defiance.

"I guess this is a bad time to mention I painted a dummy like Seneca Crane and hung it from the ceiling," I say, scooping a forkful of mashed potatoes into my mouth. What was silence erupts into chaos. It's a mess of emotions. Outrage from Haymitch. Disbelief from Portia. Horror from Effie. Cinna just sits calmly, but I think he's trying to bury a smile.

"You'd have thought we planned it," I say under my breath to Peeta, although clearly the table heard as Portia snaps angrily.

"You didn't?"

We watch the training score results on the giant television in silence. The Careers victors are a line of 10s. When the pointy-toothed woman gets an 11, I wonder what she did. The Career tributes do well, too, mostly 9s and 10s. Most of the Victors rank high, somewhere in the 8 and 9 range, although some pull in 7s. Finnick gets a 10. Mags only pulls a 5. Haymitch's face scrunches when he sees it, although I don't know what any of us expected. The kids vary. The scores are lower than years past, mostly 6s and 7s, but I think it's because they are being measured against their competition. The tribute girl from District 7 pulls off a 9, which surprises most of us. Arin is the first from our district to receive a score.

7.

"That's good," Madge says to him, patting his back in reassurance. He looks somewhat relieved. The other twelve-year old from District 10 got a 6.

Madge's face flashes on the screen and I see her hold her breath.

9.

"That's what the Career tributes got!" Peeta says. Madge smiles for the first time since she volunteered. The television hosts start talking about Peeta and a pit opens in my stomach.

"Has anyone ever got a zero before?" I ask.

"There's a first time for everything," Haymitch grumbles at me. Cinna reaches over and squeezes my knee. The score flashes on the screen and I nearly choke.

12.

Peeta's jaw drops, his eyes wide. His mouth is almost in a smile, but he's in too much disbelief to do much more than gape. My name is called on the screen and my eyes flit back just in time to see the same.

12.

"That's good, right?" says Arin.

"Has anyone ever got a twelve before?" Madge asks, excitedly.

Peeta and I know better. Haymitch glares at Peeta and me. "The Gamemakers did that on purpose. They put a target on your backs. Go to bed. I can't stand to even look at you," he says, taking a drink and walking back toward the kitchen.

The four of us rise wordlessly from the couch and head out of the room. Peeta grabs my hand and heads up the stairs with me.

"Peeta, dear!" Effie calls behind him, protesting the breach in etiquette, but Peeta just ignores her until the door to my room closes her voice out. I turn back to him but before I can get a word out he's stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me, squeezing me so hard I can't breathe and don't really want to.

"Did you see it?" he asks. "The painting?"

"Sort of," I confess.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into my hair. "I just… I couldn't play their game anymore. For one moment, I just… I lost it. And then I made you lose it, and now they are going to go after us."

"They were already going after us," I respond. Peeta's grip slackens only slightly, and I lean back, cupping his face in my hands. "I have never loved you more than when I saw that painting on the floor."

The word hangs between us. I've hardly said it. Neither has he, but we know it's there between us.

He kisses me, his mouth hot and radiant. We fall asleep that night with our fingers woven, our arms, our hands, our legs. It's hard to tell where I end and Peeta begins.

The knock on our door is too early and not welcome. Peeta groans as he stretches and reaches for his leg, but I'm already out of bed and padding toward the door, waiting for the railing we are about to get from Effie. Instead, the red-headed Avox girl stands outside our door. She smiles meekly and slips a note in my hand before turning and walking away. I unfold the paper and read.

"What is it?" Peeta asks with a husky morning voice, his back toward me as he attaches the prosthetic. "Today's schedule for interview prep?"

"No," I answer, not sure I'm really reading what I'm reading. "It's from Effie. She says she and Haymitch decided you and I don't need their help for the interviews tomorrow. They want to focus on Arin and Madge, so we're dismissed."

"Dismissed?" Peeta asks, his face knotted in confusion and then transforming into a smile. "That means we have an entire day to ourselves," he beams. He shoots out of bed and rushes over to read the note, making sure it's not some joke.

"They're mad," Peeta says, his eyes reading the fierce strokes of Effie's pen.

"I don't care," I retort. "I just wish we could get out of here. I wish we could have a real day together. I wish…" I wish we were home. I wish we could sneak off the woods and go to the lake and eat food and sleep in the sun and swim and forget the Games existed.

"I have an idea," Peeta says, hauling the blanket off my bed and ordering lots of food.

The roof.

The sun feels warm on my skin as I drench it in. Peeta plays with my hair as my head rests in his lap. Today, on the roof, there are no Games. There is nowhere and no one and nothing but this roof. We eat food until we feel like we might burst. Peeta's lips taste like citrus when I trace them with my tongue. He draws in his sketchbook and I hum songs under my breath. At one point I steal Peeta's pencil just for fun and he chases me around the roof until he tackles me to the ground. My hair sprawls across the warm blanket and he grabs at fistfuls of my shirt as we kiss and laugh. We play a game with the force field, where one of us tosses an apple over the edge and the other tries to catch it as it rebounds back to us. Eventually the sun drops in the skyline and we stare out at the brilliant streaks of orange and pink and red that make me feel small and unimportant. Like the world might forget us up here. I think I'd be okay with that.

"I wish I could just freeze this moment and live in it forever," Peeta says, his chest pressed to my back.

"I'll allow it," I whisper, and he smiles and buries his chin in my neck.

We stay on the roof long after we lose the light. I don't want to see anyone today. I don't want anyone to exist in my life but Peeta. We talk about home. Peeta tells me stories about Rye and Bannock as he tries to get me to laugh.

"That was your fault, really," he laughs. I huff my chest.

"Really? It was my fault you placed second in the wrestling championship? I saw it, Peeta, you lost fair and square," I answer.

"Exactly. You saw it. You'd never been to one of the wrestling matches before, and when I saw you out there I just…" Peeta says, his voice turning more serious, and for a moment he looks lost in me now like he says he was then. He smiles playfully, and straightening his back and lightening the mood. "And so Rye slammed me to the mat," he says.

"I hardly see how that's my fault," I scoff.

"Up until that point I was undefeated," Peeta insists proudly, as if the school wrestling champion title meant more to him than that of Victor.

"I could take you," I state, trying to add to the lightness. Trying not to let the events of every day but today pull us down.

"Ha ha. Okay, Katniss," Peeta says with no sincerity at all. He tries to smile at me again, but in his gaze my eyes drop to his mouth and the arc fades from his lips. Peeta swallows and I lean forward and press my mouth to his. I kiss him slowly. So many of our kisses are hurried or desperate or stolen, but I take this moment to feel every curve of his mouth, the heat of his tongue. The kiss reverberates through my body, shooting what feels like a current of electricity down my arms, through my fingertips and into the air around us. Heat rushes over my skin, over my legs. It's like my whole body is radiating. Peeta's hands lift and he gently runs his thumb over my jawline as he kisses me back. When our lips part, he's practically panting. "What was that?" he whispers, but we both know. "I want to take you downstairs," Peeta says, his voice serious.

"Come on," I whisper, grabbing his hand. Peeta rises and practically drags me to the door. We reach the stairs, but the moment the door to the roof closes behind us we're crashing into one another. He presses me back into the wall and I grab the railing of the stairs for support. I've felt hunger, but never like this. Peeta's teeth against my skin make it better and at the same time worse. My hand reaches for his face and Peeta's hand reaches up and covers my own. He turns his head and places his lips against my palm in a kiss. I think of the feeling of his palm pressed against mine, his skin rough from laboring with his hands, but the feel of his lips is entirely different – smooth and hot and wet. His mouth moves to my wrist and I whimper in the dark of the stairwell.

"Oh my god, Katniss," he breathes at the noise. It's a miracle we make it down the stairs at all. When Peeta opens the door to our suite, the hallway is quiet and dark. I wonder how late it is, but we cross quickly to my room and close the door. The air conditioning prickles my skin and I suddenly feel very silly and exposed. Peeta looks at me and the nerves in my stomach twist like a dish rag being rung of water.

"Katniss, we don't have to… We can go to sleep," Peeta says, but I step closer.

"I don't want to sleep," I whisper, perching onto my toes and whispering in his ear. My body ghosts in front of his, not touching him but calling out, drawing him in. He steps forward, dropping his mouth to my neck and kissing it gently, as if my skin were as delicate as a glass. My fingers twist his collar and I pull until Peeta's mouth crashes to mine and a gasp catches in my throat. I pull at his shirt, stepping backward until I feel the backs of my knees hit the bed.

"Where did this blanket come from?" Peeta asks as we drop on top of quilt smoother than silk. I look at him sideways and he half laughs. "What? It's just… Yours is on the roof."

His smile drops as my fingers drop and I begin to unbutton my blouse.

"Katniss," he breathes, but it's as if he is frozen still, his eyes watching, his mouth slightly agape. "Can I?" he says, almost sounding like he's praying rather than asking, the concept of a prayer somewhere engrained in my mind although absent from my life. This moment feels like the closest thing to praying I've ever known.

"Yeah," I whisper, and his fingers meet mine. He pushes a button through its hole and I wonder if he knows he's holding his breath. When he releases the last hole, my shirt hangs open in front of me. Peeta's thumbs graze my shoulders as he pulls it back away from my body. In the dim absence of light, the white cotton bra looks like it's practically glowing against my olive skin, which always gets darker in the summer. Peeta's mouth runs along my collar bone, sending shivers to the tips of my fingers.

"Are you cold?" he asks softly. I can feel the words on his lips against my skin.

"No," I answer. His mouth presses directly over my sternum and he runs the tip of his nose gently in the valley between my breasts. I know exactly what he's doing. I do it every night when my head rests on his chest. He's soaking in the parts of me that are alive – my sound of my heart pounding in my chest, as if it doesn't know its beats are finite, countable even; the feel of my lungs as my chest rises up and down. Peeta soaks it in as if it were liquor, as if it were intoxicating. His mouth presses against the cotton bra and I can feel the heat of his breath on my skin. My skin prickles.

"Are you sure you're not cold?" he asks again, always concerned for me, thinking of me.

"I'm not cold," I answer, and Peeta's hands slide under my back, which arches toward him as his lips press against my nipple through my bra. I start panting and Peeta smiles. His hand runs up my arm and catches the bra strap, tugging it away from my body until I'm exposed beneath his mouth. I feel the tip of his tongue sweep over my peak and a noise escapes my throat. Peeta smiles and does it again, seeking that same effect. I bite my lower lip and turn my head, but my hips swirl slowly as he continues with his tongue, his thumb, his teeth. Peeta's hands slide behind my back and he unclips the bra, pulling it away from my body.

"God you're beautiful," he breathes, as if this is the first time he's seen me. I feel sort of like it is, though, the first time he's really seen me.

"I'm not," I answer. I'm skinny, I know that. I don't curve like other women, like the woman from District 1. I'm plain. I'm ordinary.

"You are the most extraordinary thing I've ever seen," Peeta whispers, his mouth trailing down my stomach. He undoes the button of my pants and my hips instinctively shift up as he pulls them down my legs and throws them to the floor. His mouth presses against my panties and again I can feel his hot breath on me through the thin fabric. All of the air leaves my lungs. I feel like I've just run a marathon I'm panting so hard. Peeta smiles and looks up at me.

"This is no fair," I manage. I'm practically naked in front of him and he's barely undressed. Peeta grins widely and sits back on his heels, pulling his shirt over his head before dropping his mouth back to me. His skin feels like fire against mine, the sides of his chest caught between my legs and burning them like hot coal. Peeta's mouth teases me and he finally pulls back, his finger hooked into the seam of my panties, pressed against my inner thigh.

"Can I?" he whispers. I can't manage words so I just nod. Peeta pulls my panties to the side and brings his mouth to me.

"Oh my god," I say without thought. I have never felt like this before. I didn't know this was a way someone could feel. I didn't realize there was this much good in the world. I feel his tongue explore me, and when it slides over my center every muscle in my body quakes. Peeta smiles.

"There?" he asks softly. I nod and his tongue repeats the motion. My head drops back into the bed. He repeats the movement again and again as I tremble. His free hand runs along my leg while the other holds my panties back. Every sweep of his fingers is like a fire ravishing a dry summer woods. I feel as though I'm melting into the bed, as if I'm sinking and we'll both drown to death in feathers. I drop my hands to my side and hook my thumbs in my panties. Peeta stops as I slide them down my legs and kick them to the floor. He grins at me before returning his lips to my core. I can't stop the noises coming out of my mouth, but it only seems to urge Peeta on. He drops his mouth lower and slides his tongue inside me. If I could choke on air I would be now. I have never felt this alive, this aware of every particle in my body and the air around it. Peeta runs his tongue back up to the spot that makes me forget my name and his finger circles where his mouth just was.

"Yes?" Peeta asks, and I'm not sure what he wants but I just parrot the word back because I trust him. His tongue strokes me as his finger circles outside me, gently caressing until he finally pushes one inside me. I feel as though the world has become more vibrant but very far away, like color has always been dull compared to now. I feel his hand begin to move as his finger gently pulses in and out, up and down until he reaches a place that causes my knees to drop to the sides. He pulls his mouth from me and finds my eyes. "There?" he confirms.

I don't even know what that means but I don't want him to stop so I just nod my head. Everything becomes more sensitive as his finger pulsates inside me and his tongue strokes like he's found treasure.

"Peeta," I start, but the feeling is unstoppable as it overwhelms my body. I feel bright; I feel like pleasure pulsing through every bit of my body, every place blood and air and water goes. I have no idea what sounds come out of my mouth but I know I'm not able to stop them. The muscles in my stomach tremble and I feel high before a feeling of happy exhaustion washes over my body. Peeta lifts his head and smiles at me. I pull him up toward me and his body rises between my legs, his chest pressed against mine. I lift my mouth and he kisses me gently. He tastes different, he tastes like me. I dip my tongue into his mouth and he smiles and leans into the kiss, but as his hips drop forward I feel his hardness sweep against me and my head drops back.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I didn't realize," Peeta stammers, but I grab his hips and push him forward again. He makes a choking sound as he presses against me, sensitive against the inside of his pants. I fumble with the button and zipper as Peeta stares at me, wide-eyed.

"Katniss," he manages, a question in his tone as I pull his pants and boxers away from his body and shove them to the floor. "Katniss," he repeats again. He wants to know what I'm doing. He wants to know for certain that I want this. I lean forward and kiss his mouth softly.

"You," I breathe, finding his blue eyes even in the dark of my room. "It's always been you. This would have happened anyway. Reaping or not. Games or not. It's always been you. I just didn't know it."

"It's always been you, too," he says. Since he was a kid, since our families pulled us apart, there was something always drawing us back together.

Peeta looks at me and swallows. He leans forward and presses his mouth to mine, softly. He's telling me something through the motions of his lips, through the heat of his breath. I kiss him back, I say it back. We get carried away in one another's mouths, in each other. When my hand slips between us and I find him between my legs, Peeta's eyes shoot to mine.

"We don't have to do this," Peeta whispers. So much of our life has been "have to"s. I have to be his ally, his friend. I have to tell the Capitol a story. We have to kiss and pretend, we have to play the Game. But this isn't a have to.

"I know. I want to," I answer. Peeta kisses me softly and finally presses his hips forward. Everything pulls and stretches as he enters me, and my body sheens with sweat. He pauses, not moving forward or back.

"I just… I need a second," he pants, looking at me. His face breaks into a smile as he sees my face.

"Me too," I answer, relaxing every muscle in my body. Hurt isn't the right word. It doesn't hurt, but I need to get used to this feeling. I wonder if I might break apart. I realize that is ridiculous and laugh lightly, but even the rupture of a laugh in my body makes Peeta pant and bite his lip.

"Sorry," he manages, breathing through his lips. "You just feel so good, and I've wanted this for so long, and–"

He doesn't finish because I lean up and kiss him. My lips caress his and I think back to that moment in his bathroom of the first time he kissed me - Peeta perched on this side of his tub, undoing my braid with his fingers. I start to move my hips and Peeta responds in kind, gently thrusting into me and out. As we move and the discomfort goes away, I realize we fit perfectly together. Peeta's fingers knot in my hair and as he pushes forward, a wave of pleasure washes over me. Peeta stops, the sound from my lips taking him by surprise.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, but when he sees my face in the dark he realizes it was a good thing. "Oh," he says happily, and his hips begin to pick up pace. He thrusts into me and I think of him on the train, sleeping against the window. The promise I made to him on our way home, to keep him safe. The promise I will never let myself break. I move with him and Peeta drops to his elbows, his stomach presses to mine as we both move in unison. His eyes roll to the back of his head and he closes them. After a minute they shoot open and find mine, gray in the dark across from his.

"Katniss," he says with some urgency, and I know.

"Let go," I whisper, something building inside me as the realization that he's close washes over me. "Just don't stop," I beg quietly, and it's as if he unravels. I feel the muscles in his body tighten as he cries out. Inside me I feel him swollen and pulsing as he pushes through it. He shakes and words of adoration spill from his lips as he thrusts again and again, coming in waves as he feels himself slip in and out of me. His arms go weak and he looks at me like he's never truly seen me until now. "Keep going," I whisper and he picks up speed, refusing to leave me on the edge. Everything is so much wetter now and it feels like I was always supposed to be here, living in this moment. It crashes over me again and I lean back. Peeta watches me intently as he guides me through it, urging me on and reveling as I bite my lip and moan.

When we come down, he goes to pull himself out and I grab his hips.

"Stay with me," I whisper.

"Always," he answers, and we fall asleep that way, sticky and tired and happy, however temporary it may be.

 **A/N: Hey everyone! I apologize for the unexpected delay. It was a perfect storm of busy over here… Finals for my first semester of grad school, plus my puppy dog had knee surgery so we are in for 16 weeks of recovery for her. The next few chapters might be slow but I'm not abandoning you or this story. Just have some life things sneaking their way in. Hopefully this extra long and uber Everlarky chapter makes up for my prolonged absence.**


	49. Chapter 49 - The Interviews

**Gale**

As large as the Everdeen living room is, it feels crowded. There aren't enough places to sit and no one can stay still anyway. Mrs. Everdeen wrings her hands and I feel guilty for being here. She's in no state of mind to entertain guests, but I know she can't be alone either. Mr. Mellark comes out from the kitchen and places a plate of warm cookies on the table. Prim follows with a kettle of hot water and a variety of cups she's managing like some balancing act, her fingers hooked through the many handles. Rory immediately jolts over to her, gathering cups as she gratefully blushes at him.

"Would you like some tea, Mom?" Delly Cartwright asks, turning back to look at her mother. Mrs. Cartwright sits on the edge of the couch chewing her nails. When she drops her fingers from her lips I can see her skin is red with blood, but she just curls up her hands and shakes her head no.

We're an unlikely crew. Mrs. Everdeen and Prim. Mr. Mellark and Rye. The entire Hawthorne clan, even Posy, who is playing on the floor with one of the Cartwright girls. Aside from Delly I can't keep the three girls straight. They all look identical, with round faces and curly blonde hair. Arin was the only boy. _Is_. Is the only boy. Mr. Cartwright is in no position to comfort his wife. He stares out a window like maybe Arin is just playing in the yard and not thousands of miles away. The knock on the door startles everyone, and we all basically leap from our skin. Mrs. Cartwright stares toward the front hall like we might be under attack. It feels like it.

"I got it," I announce, crossing to the front door. I feel their eyes boring into me through the wall as I open the heavy wooden door.

"Hello," the mayor offers cordially, although his voice sounds small.

"Hi," I respond. I tell my feet to move, to step out of his way and let this man in the house, but I find myself planted to the ground. We've never spoken before, aside from when the mayor pinned a medal to my chest after my father died, as if it were some award for getting your numbers right in school.

"I brought food," Mr. Undersee says feebly, holding up a plate with some cheese and sliced meat. "I heard the families were… um…. I heard everyone was here."

"Yeah, come in," I find myself saying. He squeezes by me and I close the door. I watch as he follows the sound, slowly making his way to the living room. I hear them welcome him as if everything is fine. I'm unable to move. When I finally enter the room again, I see Mr. Mellark and Mr. Undersee exchanging some pleasant words. No hard feelings then, for when those two families singlehandedly destroyed Madge's life by promising her away in a marriage neither she nor Peeta wanted.

I can't wallow in my anger long as the television comes to life, the anthem of Panem blaring across the speakers. Every one of us stops midsentence and looks to the screen. It's as though we are collectively holding our breath.

I can't focus as Caesar Flickerman gives his speech, bantering playfully with the audience. I just want the interviews to start. I wonder if Madge is backstage. I wonder what she's wearing. I wonder what she's thinking. I wonder if she's talking to her fellow tributes, or if she's just closed them off and compartmentalized like she does with everything else. My mind drifts to Katniss. I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to process what I want… _who_ I want to live. My best friend or the girl I'm in love with. What I want is for none of this to be happening. What I _want_ is for them both to be home. I feel a flush of guilt whenever the coverage is on Madge and I find myself wanting nothing more than her here ans safe. But then Katniss comes on screen or I'm hunting and missing her and feeling sick that I am hoping I see her again. My mom said it doesn't matter what I want in my heart because it won't change what happens. There's no use in feeling guilty about something I can't control and makes no difference anyway. Still. I want them both home.

But there's only one victor. The mistake that sent Mellark home will not happen again. He's paying for it now. History has a way of correcting itself.

The first two guests are the new tributes from District 1. I'd call them kids but they hardly look it. I try to focus on their words, but it is the same gibberish the tributes always say. None of it's true, none of it is sincere. They are just playing for sponsors. The woman from District 1 takes the stage with tears in her eyes, brokenhearted to leave the Capitol behind after they were so kind to her and her brother. It's weird, but when the male victor from District 1 starts to speak, I find myself nearly choking on my spit.

"What did he just say?" I spit out, but everyone else is just as bewildered as I am. He's talking about his sister. They both volunteered, but he's saying he didn't want to come back to the Arena. It doesn't make any sense. The Career districts had pools of victors chomping at the bait to get back inside, and now he's saying he didn't want to.

"When I heard her volunteer, I knew I couldn't let her go in alone," Gloss says, and I wonder when I learned his name. _Now_ , I realize. He's made me remember him. This isn't good for Katniss. They are stealing her whole script.

The camera pans the crowd and they are eating it up. What are they doing? They are making the Capitol look cruel. They are supposed to be Careers. District 2 seems like it's gone back to normal, but when District 3 comes out the tributes each spend their allotted time regurgitating Panem law from memory and identifying places where the law contradicts the Quell. Finnick Odair locks eyes with the camera and recites a poem for his one true love. I swear Prim and Delly both visibly swoon. One by one the districts push back, tribute and victor alike. The woman from District 7 just screams angry profanities at the camera. The boy from 10 cries. One woman ignores Caesar entirely and tells her children a bedtime story. I feel like I'm going to be sick.

When they announce District 12 it's like all the air has left the room. When I see Madge, it's like my heart has leapt into my throat and I'm choking on it. She enters the stage. Her hair is curled and falling down her back. Her chin is up, her arms are bare. She looks stronger than when she left. I want her. I want to reach through the cameras and wrap her in my arms and steal her away, but instead I'm stuck here feeling useless as I watch the girl I love get paraded around like one of those silly purebred Capitol dogs with ribbons in their hair. Madge dares a glance at the camera and for a split second I see her, I see the real her, but she buries it before she plasters on a half smile. It's coy. Everyone before her has been angry or sad or disingenuous, and here she is… pretty and strong and an utter mystery.

"The mayor's daughter!" Caesar barks in laughter. I look over and Mayor Undersee looks white as a sheet of paper. My eyes shoot back to the screen, angry with myself to have even missed a second of Madge's face. My heart slams itself against my sternum like an axe against a tree trunk.

"That's right," Madge acknowledges with a nod. That's when I see it hanging around her neck. My father's loupe, resting right above her heart. I look over to my mom whose eyes tear up as she watches Madge with our family heirloom. She's one of us. She's an honorary Hawthorne.

"Now this isn't the first time we've heard your name, though, is it?" Caesar leads. Madge blushes as if on cue and I want to reach through the screen and kiss her, but I'm stuck here and she's unreachable to me. "No, it's not! You were engaged to your fellow tribute, Peeta Mellark!"

The audience gasps as if this is news, but it's a fake reaction. They all knew. Everyone in Panem knew. I wouldn't be surprised if there were signs that lit up above the stage that said _gasp_ or _laugh_ or _cheer._

"And then you volunteered for the Games! Following your lost love, my dear?" Caesar leads, trying to push every bit of sensationalism into her precious interview window.

I bury the jealous that brews in my stomach at the idea of Madge in love with Peeta. Whether this is good or bad for Madge I can't tell. It makes her interesting, but no one is rooting to break up the star-crossed lovers. Any appeal this brings to Madge can only be temporary, as eventually the Capitol will want to kill her off and preserve their precious love story. I hope this is not the route Haymitch chose to take for Madge. They've got to come up with something better than that for her.

"No," Madge says, her face even. "Peeta's only ever loved Katniss."

"And you've only ever loved him?" Caesar leads, trying to sell the narrative. Madge looks up at the camera and it's as though she's looking right at me.

"No, that's not it," she says. Caesar finally gives up.

"So if not for love, then why? Why are you here, Madge Undersee? Why did you volunteer to follow your former fiancée into the Arena?" Caesar asks with gusto. The camera zooms in on Madge's face. She looks like she's debating something. I don't know if anyone can see it but me. I know what's going to happen before it even leaves her lips and my stomach burns.

"Because it's wrong," she says defiantly. There is no fake gasp now. The audience is silent. Caesar is silent. The other victors may be protesting, yes. They may be begging Snow to change his mind, or breaking our hearts reaching out to family and friends, trying to change the tide. But no one has just _said_ it. No one is that stupid. No one wants that target on their back.

But Madge has never been one to mince words.

"Because they tried to take Prim again, just to punish Katniss, and it's wrong," Madge adds, as if the first three words out of her mouth weren't already a death sentence.

The exit music begins to play early and Caesar looks confused, if only for a millisecond, but then he's wrapping up the interview. Madge didn't get her two minutes. She was on stage maybe thirty seconds. She's already being silenced.

The moment she steps in that Arena she'll be silenced too.

Everything in my body feels heavy.

Arin enters the stage with a bright smile I try to pay attention but I can't stop her words ringing over and over in my head. _It's wrong. It's wrong._

It _is_ wrong. And Madge is the bravest person I've ever met. I wonder what they'll do it her. I wonder if there's anything she could do to make it out alive. I wonder how Snow is reacting to her words. Is he an angry man? Did he throw something? Or is he cool and calculating? Before I even know what Arin said, the music is playing again.

When Katniss takes the stage, though, I find myself unable to think about anything else but my best friend. She's wearing a wedding dress. It's huge and extravagant and utterly _not_ Katniss, but she is impossible to ignore. The audience is openly weeping in what seems like some weird mix of joy and sorrow. I try to focus on her words but I can't. Just the look of her… I watch as she smiles and flirts and I know it's all for show, I know this dress is for show, but… I am so utterly broken by it all. By having to bear witness to this mockery of a life Katniss will never get to lead. I grew up with her, but she's done growing. She's done living. President Snow will never let that be.

It's the sound of Prim crying that finally breaks the trance. She's on the floor, head buried in her knees as if even the sight of Katniss hurts her eyes. I bend down and she wraps her arms around my neck. I stand and pick her up and feel her tiny body shake as she cries into my shirt. When my face looks back up to the screen, Katniss is spinning and her dress begins to smoke and catch on fire like the anger growing in my chest. My sadness at the sight of her has transformed like her dress – burning and raging into a fire of fury. Katniss is seemingly engulfed, but as quickly as they grew the flames extinguish. I put Prim down and her feet hit the floor just in time for her to turn around and watch her sister raise her arms in the air.

She's not a girlish, blushing bride anymore. Feathers spread from under her arms and the charcoal black dress is unmistakable.

"You're like… like a bird!" Caesar exclaims.

"Not a bird. A mockingjay," Katniss says, eyes meeting the camera dead on.

This message is unambiguous. It's a cry out to all of us.

Rise up.

Katniss's time is up and she's escorted back to the rest of the Victors. Caesar composes himself and seems relieved when Peeta shows up on stage with his usual banter. He smiles, they laugh. Peeta does some bit where he says he smells like flowers and has Caesar sniffing his collar. He's acting just like a Capitol pawn. The whole thing makes me want to barf until Caesar turns to the topic of Peeta and Katniss's tragically fated nuptials. Peeta starts talking some nonsense about how he and Katniss are already married. The room falls entirely silent when he recounts their toasting. Mr. Mellark and Mrs. Everdeen exchange a look. It could have happened, late at night when everyone else was asleep.

I know better, though. Katniss never wanted to get married. And she'd definitely never keep it from Prim, who looks as shocked as everyone else. The tone shifts and my eyes shoot back to the television, where Peeta's demeanor has changed entirely. He's angry at something Caesar said.

"Of course I regret it! We never would have gone through with it! We never would have done it at all!" Peeta says on the screen. He's visibly upset and Caesar looks utterly confused.

"Well surely some time together is better than no time at all?" Caesar asks and Peeta's jaw sets. Those were the words he was waiting for. But nothing could prepare me for what came next.

"I'd have said that too," he starts, but then his voice hesitates for a minute before he finishes. "If it weren't for the baby."

There's a brief moment of stillness, like watching a bomb fall from the sky before the ground erupts into explosion. The moment where everything is as it was, but not. There's something foreboding, something awful gurgling inside you. And that's when the audience erupts. Their screams are deafening. The cameras zoom in on Katniss who looks away from the lens as tear drops down her cheek. She looks completely rattled, as though she didn't expect Peeta to tell their secret. Peeta joins Katniss in line at the back of the stage. He lifts his hand to her face and wipes the tear from her cheek before she leans over and kisses him. I think I see him mouth _I'm sorry._

Mrs. Everdeen looks despondent. Mr. Mellark crosses over to her, but when he reaches out she lifts her hands in the air as if she doesn't want to be touched.

Katniss is pregnant. I don't understand. I can't grapple with the information. She's never wanted kids. She would never, _ever_ let herself get pregnant. She knows a Victor's child is almost guaranteed a ticket to the Arena. Unless they are lying about the timing. Unless it happened _after_ the Reaping. Unless she already decided she's going to die and so she didn't bother to protect herself. She knew a baby would never come to be.

That's not Katniss. She might line herself up to be a martyr, but she's not going to sacrifice a child, even an unborn, barely real one.

The camera goes back to Katniss and with one look and I know. No one else would know, but I know my best friend. I can't read Peeta, but I can read her.

They are lying. I look over and Mrs. Everdeen appears to have stopped breathing. I think she'd stop existing right now, if she could. I think she'd fade into nothing. I want to tell her it's not real, that Katniss would never do that, but Katniss told me never to speak of anything important here. Save it for the woods.

On screen Katniss grabs the hand of the tribute next to her. It's as if some chain reaction starts, because across the stage the victors and tributes alike take one another's hands. Madge raises her hands above her head and the others follow. The districts are united.

The screen goes black as the feeling of dread inside me.


	50. Chapter 50 - Sneaking Around

**Peeta**

Our car is barely moving through the mob of crazed Capitolites that are storming the streets. We sit silently for a while. I turn around and see the car with Effie, Arin, and Madge is faring no better. My eyes drift back to the crowd and for a moment I want to let the hope overwhelm me. The Capitol is mad with emotions they don't know how to process. They've never known a tribute before, never loved one, as best they think they love us. Katniss's unborn baby going into an Arena? The street is deafening with outcries of rage. Maybe this will change things. Maybe if _they_ ask, things will finally be different.

"It won't change anything for us," Haymitch says as if reading my mind. He's not delicate with his words. Haymitch doesn't know how to be delicate. But he feels bad saying them. "They don't even know what to ask for," he adds. "They're like children throwing a temper tantrum."

I know he's right. In my head, I know he's right, but I can't help but feel overwhelmed with disappointment. My stomach feels like it's solidified. Like I have a stone in my body and not organs, like it's so heavy I might crash through the seat of this car and onto the street below. Did I just risk our lives for nothing? My eyes drift to Katniss, who stares out at the crowd, not even bothering to acknowledge Haymitch's statement. I just want to keep her safe. All I have are my words, and they mean nothing. They _did_ nothing. I can feel Haymitch's eyes on me.

"It was a genius move, kid. Maybe things won't be different for these Games, but you are the first person to ever get them to even ask the question. Are the Games right?" Haymitch adds, knowing the roar of the crowd will drown out anything the listening devices might try to pick up. "It could change something. Someday."

Will that matter if Katniss isn't alive to see it? I look over at her but she doesn't say a word. I can read her looks now, though. She's trying to process the emotional conflict battling in her head. She's worried. When we first got in the car, she was bold and on fire, but as she's been ruminating in her thoughts her mood has shifted. She's worried about her family after the Mockingjay dress. She's worried about Cinna and me. She's worried about all of us after the stunts District 12 just pulled in the interviews. The empowerment doesn't go away, though. The worry doesn't overtake the pride. She just hit back in a way Snow was not expecting. She called an entire nation to fight back. She's defiant. Angry.

And worried.

Katniss doesn't know how to deal with the quarrel inside her heart, so she's silent instead.

"What about Madge?" Katniss finally asks. She wants to know if Madge got herself killed. If she's a target now, too, like Katniss. Like me. We were the ones pushing back, the ones fighting. We never meant to get her involved.

"She just did the smartest thing she could to keep Prim safe," Haymitch says gruffly, his tone not matching the comfort of his words.

Katniss and I look at him like he's grown two heads.

"She basically accused the Capitol of cheating, of rigging the Reaping," I spit out. How can that possibly help?

"And now, if the Capitol hurts Prim, it will look like they're doing it on purpose to punish Katniss," Haymitch explains. He takes in our gaping expressions and leans forward toward us, speaking slowly. "They can still say the Quarter Quell Reaping was a fluke, but that's it. They don't have any more chances now. If they harm so much as a hair on Prim's head, all eyes are on Snow. He's not that stupid." Haymitch goes on. "She can't have an accident. She can't be arrested. Everyone is watching her now. For the first time, Prim is actually safe."

I feel like I can finally exhale, that we can go into the Arena and not worry about our sister. But the relief is short-lived as a realization washes over me.

"The Undersees," I say. Snow must be furious. Just because he lost one target doesn't mean he won't find another.

"The Hawthornes," Katniss breathes, and in a word I know it's true. Snow can't lash out at the mayor without it looking like an obvious act of retribution from the Capitol, but the Hawthornes are fair game. Snow knows that Gale is Katniss's best friend; that they kissed in the woods. He knows Madge lives with them. Snow could hurt both Katniss and Madge at once, and most of Panem would be totally blind to what it means.

I want to reach out and grab Katniss's hand but I know she'd hate that. She doesn't want to be comforted when she feels guilty, she wants to beat herself up. She thinks she doesn't deserve comfort. I keep my hand still at my side.

There's nothing any of us can say. We did the right thing. We know that. But it's one thing to sacrifice yourself, and it's another to sacrifice the ones you love. Katniss has never been one to let someone else pay her debts.

I can hear her thinking, and it makes my stomach sick.

 _If I die in there, it will all be okay._

I don't care what she thinks she wants. I reach over and squeeze her hand. She squeezes back, and finally, she breathes.

 **Lillian**

The people leave almost immediately after the show ends. Prim stays in the kitchen with me for a bit, but eventually she gets so tired she starts to nod off at the table until she finally goes upstairs to bed. I should make tea. I should clean up. I should do anything. Instead I feel like my body weighs a million pounds, like it would be impossible to even lift my hand.

There's a quiet knock at the door. When I don't respond, it creaks open slowly.

"Lil? I saw the light on," Abel's voice calls out in a whisper. I should say stop. I should say leave. But he sees the light in the kitchen and closes the door quietly before making his way across the room. When he appears in the doorway I don't even turn my head.

"Hi," he tries to say unobtrusively, but his presence is obtrusive. The air is obtrusive. The world around me is obtrusive. I just want to go to sleep and pretend none of this is real. I can't bear the torture of living if this is what it always brings.

I don't respond.

"Are you okay?" Abel asks.

I don't respond.

I can't.

He leaves me sitting in the kitchen and heads to the living room. I hear the clinking of cups and plates as he gathers the dishes from my guests. He opens the door to the kitchen with his foot and makes his way to the sink, carefully placing the items in one by one. He leaves again. I hear sounds. He's tidying up. When Abel comes back to the kitchen, he goes straight to the sink, washing the cups and placing them upside down on a dishcloth on the counter. I don't know what my feet are doing, but I move toward him. I take the dishtowel and start drying the mugs, putting them back in the cupboard. My fingers linger on the last cup.

I'm living. I hate myself for it.

The kettle on the stove whistles and I realize I don't know when Abel did that. He takes the mug from my hand and pours the hot water inside, adding a cinched bag of herbs before handing it back to me. The familiar scent of thyme creeps up my nose.

"In the morning, and at night," Abel says. I bring the cup to my lips.

"How did you…" I start to ask, but he takes out a piece of paper and puts it on the counter in front of me. It's Katniss's writing. I'd know my daughter's hand anywhere. There's a map of where in the woods she gathers the thyme. There are some notes on which merchants carry it and where it can be bought in the Hob in a pinch. She has instructions on how to steep it and for how long. At the bottom, her hand scrolls the words _for sadness._

"Twice a day," Abel repeats. "No exceptions." After a moment's hesitation, he adds, "Our daughter needs you."

I drink the tea until it's gone. He squeezes my hand and leaves. I stare at the door and wonder how he still has it in his heart to take care of others when his son is lined up to die tomorrow. I head upstairs, but before going to bed I creep into Prim's room. I pull the blanket up to her chin. She looks at me blurrily.

"You got up," she whispers.

"I did," I confirm, gently sweeping my hand across her forehead.

"I love you, Mom," Prim says, quiet in the night air. Like a secret.

"I love you too, Prim," I reply.

"Do you think Katniss is sleeping?" she asks.

"No," I say truthfully.

"Me either," Prim whispers.

 **Katniss**

We sleep and we don't. We take turns panicking, waking the other accidentally, slipping under again. Peeta has finally drifted off after spending an hour staring at the ceiling with a rock in his throat, his hand clenched tight over mine.

"Do I have anything to be sorry about?" he'd whispered the moment we were offstage, his arms wrapped around me tighter than they've ever been.

"No," I confessed with a warm breathe on his shoulder.

I'm still awake when the coin begins buzzing in the nightstand. I look to Peeta but he's too lost in some nightmare to hear it, his arm draped over my waist. I reach my arm as best I can while keeping my body still. I pull the drawer open, but as my torso stretches Peeta wraps his arms tighter around me. My fingers sloppily fumble inside the drawer until I finally pick up the coin and sweep my thumb across the face. The buzzing stops. _Acknowledged. I'm coming._ I look at Peeta and wonder how I'm going to manage this. I can't be gone long. I move away from him as slowly as I can until his arm slips off of me and lands gently on the bed. He stirs for a moment, but I reach over and squeeze his hand. It seems enough to reinforce that I'm safe because he slips back to sleep.

I don't have a lot of time.

 **Madge**

The light from the hallway shoots a beam under my door. It's barely anything, dull and barely there, but I stare at it because I can't bear to look at anything else. I can't look at this room. I can't look at the dreadful imaginings living on the inside of my eyelids. The bathroom is nothing but mirrors and I can't even look at myself right now. So I'm staring at the light under the door when it flickers. Someone is in the hallway.

That's impossible. I heard nothing. No doors, no footsteps. If it's so quiet I can hear my heart pounding in my chest, certainly I'd hear someone in the hall. But the light breaks again and I know I'm right. I creep out of bed and crawl toward the door on my hands and knees. When the light stays solid, I reach up and turn the handle slowly. Who would be here? Peacekeepers? Guards come to punish me, to cut out my tongue, to teach me to show some respect? I swallow and turn the knob. I peek out just in time to see Katniss slip silently down the stairs. I know I should stay. I tell my feet to be still, but instead I'm out in the night, following her down the hall. The suite is locked, I have no idea where she is going. Then I realize she must be sneaking to Peeta's room. I feel guilty watching her, but when I peer over the railing toward the lower floor of our suite, she's not at Peeta's door at all. She's standing at the door to the outside hall.

Is she attempting to escape?

Katniss turns the handle it is unsurprisingly locked. I expect her to turn back, but instead she takes something shiny from her pocket and swipes her thumb over it. There's a click and the door releases. She slips outside and I leap to my feet, sprinting down the stairs. I barely reach the door in time to grab the handle and keep the latch from clicking shut.

I try to be quiet like her but I know I'm not. It doesn't matter though. When I peer out into the hallway, Katniss is already gone. I huff my breath, my head shooting side to side until I see the door to the utility stairwell. That's the only place she could have disappeared to before I reached the hall. I take off a sock and shove it in the doorframe to keep the door from locking on me. I walk down the corridor quietly when I hear a man's voice muffled through the utility door. I press my cheek against the cold metal but it's not much better. I look to my feet and find a small gap at the bottom of the door, and for the second time tonight I drop to my knees and press my ear against the gap.

"It was stupid," I hear Katniss say.

"It was brave," the man says back. It takes a minute, but I finally realize she's talking to Finnick Odair.

"I've received word from District 13 confirming escape details," another voice says. I can't place it. Higher pitched, but it's not a child. My mind is too clouded to focus on who anyway. It's _what_ he said that is important. _Escape_. "The hovercraft will appear above the northernmost segment of the Arena at midnight on the fourth night. Any changes to that plan will be communicated to Finnick or myself."

"The priority is to get Peeta out. He just had nearly every Capitol citizen screaming on the streets for the end of the Games. He did it in less than five minutes. Imagine what he could do speaking candidly to the entire nation. He could call the Districts to arms. He could seed hope in freedom and doubt in Snow's regime. He is what we've been waiting for. After tonight District 13 is absolutely sure he's the voice to lead the people into revolution," a third voice adds. Deeper. Solid.

"Then what is Katniss?" Finnick asks.

"The martyr we rally around," the man responds, and I feel as though all the weight in my body slams into my feet. I know that voice. I remember it from television.

That's a Gamemaker. What is Katniss doing with a Gamemaker?

Finnick argues with him for a while, but Katniss is noiseless. She's not even protesting being offered like a pig for slaughter. I can't put it together, I don't know _what_ she is trying to do, how she thinks she is going to get Peeta out, but she's sacrificing herself for him. For Panem.

"Symbols live on. Her Mockingjay will be emblazoned in armor and tattooed on skin. Her sacrifice will be eternal. But what we need is a living, breathing leader to show Panem the way," the Gamemaker says.

Finnick starts to protest.

"It's fine," Katniss finally says. "I want Peeta living and breathing. I want this." The last sentence is gentler. It's for Finnick alone. I feel guilty hearing it. "What about Madge and Arin?" Katniss asks.

My body flushes with emotion. Why is she even thinking of me at all? Then I realize she owes me. I saved her sister. I volunteered for Prim. I didn't do that to be another person she trades her life for. It was the opposite, even.

It can't just be that, though. She doesn't owe Arin anything.

"I'll get them out," Finnick promises her tenderly, but with enough firmness to show he's certain.

They start talking logistics. Where Katniss's weapon will be. Something about a wire. Something about trackers. I don't know why they are whispering now when they weren't before, but it's mostly inaudible to me through the door.

"No!" Katniss raises her voice. My heart thumps in my chest. "I don't care, Beetee. I'm not leaving those kids for a bloodbath."

"We have to get the wire. We cannot afford to potentially jeopardize the escape plan by saving the tributes. I want to help them too, but the lives of many cannot be sacrificed for the few," the Beetee insists.

"There is no part of me that can leave them behind," she spits back, her voice strained. I hear shuffling behind the door.

"We'll get them out. Yours and mine and anyone else that wants to come along. Johanna agreed too, remember?" Finnick says.

"I trust Johanna about as far as I can throw her," Katniss spits back.

"That is Haymitch's mission, not Thirteen's," the Gamemaker inserts himself. "The important thing is to get the tools needed from the Cornucopia to complete our mission without losing Peeta."

"We can't let the Career Victors kill a child, Plutarch. You know that," Finnick states. "We need all the districts to unite of this rebellion is going to work. We _need_ One and Two. And the whole of the other districts will resist them if one of those Victors kills a little kid."

They argue.

"You can't save everyone!" Plutarch raises his voice.

"You can't stop me from trying!" Katniss yells back. There are shushes and the shadows under the door shift. I hear Finnick whispering something to Katniss but I can't make it out.

"Fine. We'll prioritize weapons," Katniss says, but there's a tone to her voice. "I'll get my bow. _You_ get the wire," Katniss says defiantly. I hear someone gulp.

"I… I…" Beetee stutters.

"Good," she quips. She needs her bow to save the kids anyway. She's conceding nothing.

I hear footsteps and I leap to my feet, less quiet than I'd like. My head shoots back but I have no idea where the intruder is or where I could possibly hide. There's another door in the hallway and I try it fruitlessly.

"Whatcha doin' out here, spit fire?"

Only one person calls me that. I turn around slowly.

"I was…"

"You was what? Spying on a secret meeting?" Haymitch snarks back. I don't know what's going to happen to me. Does he turn me over to the Gamemaker? Am I punished somehow in the Arena for breaking the rules? But when I dare a look at Haymitch, he's not mad at all. He has a slight smirk on his face. "I don't know what to do with my girls this year," he adds almost playfully, and for a moment my chest aches. It's the kind of thing family would say. A father would say. "Go," he says more seriously, jerking his head over his shoulder, back down the hall toward our suite.

"But–"

"I won't tell if you won't," he says.

"I won't tell," I promise.

"I believe you," he responds.

I walk past Haymitch. I want to reach out and grab his hand, but he's not that kind of person. Instead, he waits for me to be a few feet down the hall before opening the door.

"What did I miss?" he blares before the door closes again.

 **Peeta**

I jolt awake, my chest heaving.

"Katniss," I whisper, reaching my arm next to me, but my hand just sweeps over empty sheets next to me. "Katniss!" I call out, panic surging through me.

Her head pops out of the bathroom, toothbrush in her mouth. I try to catch my breath.

"Sorry," I pant, dropping my back onto the bed. I hear the sink and she crawls into bed next to me.

"Sorry, I had a bad taste in my mouth," she whispers before curling into me.

"Me too," I response, but I realize it's not out loud.

Something's wrong.

Something's left a bad taste in my mouth, too.


End file.
